


And Then a Bit

by infinitelymint



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (because they kinda share that really), (yes), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, I have no idea what to tag this..., I promise!!, I've got no idea what I'm even saying anymore, IGNORE THESE TAGS JESUS, M/M, Now for the smut tags, Rimming, THE MOTHER OF ALL PUBLICITY STUNTS, The side pairings are very very minor, Top Harry, Top Louis, also this will eventually have smut, as in Louis and Harry fake a relationship for publicity, basically they're cute as fuck even when they aren't actually together, canon AU, does it show?, ish, just read no?, thigh fucking, way better than haylor no??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 158,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitelymint/pseuds/infinitelymint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.</em></p><p> </p><p>(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [And Then A Bit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6634735) by [just_vanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_vanilla/pseuds/just_vanilla)



> Hiiiiiiiiiiiii.
> 
> Okay, so, wow-- uumm... I got the idea for this fic in August 2013, so !!!!!!!!! that I'm finally posting. Crayzyyyyy. 
> 
> First off a massive, massive thank you to the wonderful [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com/) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com/) for being the most brilliant betaes and britpickers ever! Thank you thank you thank you thank you. I could say it infinitely, and it would never suffice. THANK YOU!
> 
> And, just, this fic would not be here right now if not for the wonderful, fantastic, brilliant [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com), who encouraged me to get back into it, and who has held my hand and petted my hair and cheered me on since January - this is as much to your credit as mine. This fic is for you. Jo, den er!
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading, and at least give the first proper chapter a shot, it'd mean a lot.
> 
> Oh, and I should probably mention that since the plot of this was conceived in August, I conveiniently ignore things such as their three month "break".
> 
> I'll try to update every Friday!
> 
> xxxx

 

 

 

[(x)](http://i.imgur.com/mhO0hQq.jpg)

_I thought our story was epic, you know, you and me._

_Spanning years and continents._

_Lives ruined, bloodshed._

_(Veronica Mars - “Look Who’s Stalking”)_

****

**PROLOGUE:**

They finished their ”Where We Are”-tour on a Saturday night in Sydney, and Louis had never been as tired nor as high on adrenaline in his life. Looking back on it now, almost two years later, Louis can still hear the screaming fans, still feel the pressure from Harry’s hands squeezing his shoulder, still smell the sweat that clung to their bodies like a second skin, still feel the energy in the air. They’d stood there on stage, having just performed _What Makes You Beautiful_ , arms around each other, grins matching, and it had felt like they could literally do anything in the world.

Truth is, back then they could have. They’d had success for breakfast, fame for lunch and idolization for dinner. They’d been the world’s biggest boy band, they were loved and adored and coveted, and, damn it, they were _good_.

And they were tired.

They were worn out, worked to the bone, and they needed a break. A hiatus, Liam kept calling it, feeling the need to remind everybody that it wasn’t the end, that it wasn’t permanent. They’d sat down in Louis’ hotel room on a Monday during the Australian leg of their tour, and it had been Zayn that brought it up first.

“Little Mix is taking 2014 off,” he’d said. “They’re gonna use the time to write a new album, right? But also, you know, to get some peace and quiet…”

And they all knew what he was getting at. Perrie and Zayn had been engaged since August 2013, but between One Direction and Little Mix, they saw each other so rarely that they hardly had time to be engaged, much less plan and have a wedding. They understood how much of a temptation it must be for Zayn, knowing that Perrie will be home in London for a year, knowing that they could finally be an actual couple, waking up next to each other every day, doing the weekly shop together and finally, finally getting married.

None of them had known how to respond, and the next few moments were filled with silence.

“It’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” Harry said eventually. “Just for a little while. Just to slow down a bit, yeah?”

And the thing is, it _did_ sound nice. Nice and fantastic and unbelievable… and also fucking _terrifying._

“It’d just be a hiatus, right?” Liam spoke. “Like we’ll take some time off, write some songs, appreciate the quiet life, and then we’ll be back, yeah? Together again? New album, new tour?”

“’Course, mate!” Niall smiled. “Like you could get rid of us that easily. We’ll still be One Direction when we’re old and senile.”

Four pairs of eyes shifted to Louis, who had remained silent throughout it all. He sighed quietly, ran a hand through his unstyled hair and nodded, “I think a break is exactly what we need.”

“A hiatus,” Liam corrected and Louis smiled.

“A hiatus.” Harry repeated, nodding, and that had sealed it.

Management had been harder to convince. They were certain that even if the boys did return from their hiatus, the fan base would be long gone, but they were steadfast in their decision. In the end they compromised. The boys would release a Greatest Hits album in time for Christmas and then the hiatus would be announced. They’d agreed on giving themselves two years. It seemed such a long time, but they’d been going a hundred kilometres an hour for four years and they needed it. They were to use the last six months of their hiatus to record a new album, so that it would be ready when they returned.

And that was where they were now. Two years later and ready to take on the world again.

It had been two strange years for all of them. Equal parts fantastic and horrible. It was nice to be able to live in the same place for an extended period of time, nice to be able to see their families more often, nice for those with significant others to be able to spend every day with them.

Zayn and Perrie had gotten married six months into the hiatus, a lovely quiet affair, and Louis doesn’t think he has ever seen Zayn that happy before. If nothing else, the hiatus was worth it just to see that.

But it had been tough as well, tougher than Louis had expected. It was quite natural that the hiatus meant seeing less of the boys, but it was something else entirely when it actually happened.

Niall went back to Ireland for a time, and ended up doing a bit of writing with various artists. They all wrote a lot during the hiatus, really. It wasn’t long before Niall rekindled the flame with Barbara, and a year into the hiatus, they went public with their relationship. It was the first time Niall had ever been officially taken since joining One Direction, but people had been extraordinarily supportive of it. Then again, it could easily just be because people didn’t care anymore? It was so hard to distinguish between the two these days.

Liam had spent the first seven months in London, and after a bad break up with Sophia, he’d packed his bag and moved to LA to live. He’d gotten involved in a lot of producing in his time there, and had found a genuine joy in being behind the scenes of the music making, besides just the writing he’d been enjoying for a long time now.

Harry had spent a lot of time with Ed. They’d taken up writing together, and Harry had co-written quite a few of the songs on Ed’s newest album. About a year into the break, Harry had joined Ed on his tour of North America, travelling with him for two months, and they’d surprised fans with a duet between the two of them. A bonus track for Ed’s upcoming album. That had spurned quite a large number of _“Harry Styles Quits One Direction, Heartthrob Ready to Go Solo”_ -rumours, none of which held any truth, Harry was quick to reassure the boys.

_Wouldn’t ditch you for a solo career even if it was the last thing on earth to do. Six months until it’s proper back to work, lads! Miss you .xx_

In truth, they’d all been surrounded by break-up rumours and solo-rumours ever since they announced their hiatus. Few believed that they would ever return as a band. Little Mix had managed to do so with surprising success – a new marketing strategy making them much more attractive to the American market, and they were doing better overseas than they’d ever done before. The boys had been comforted by their apparent success.

As for Louis, he’d spent the first few months on his sofa, to be honest. It was the strangest thing, finally being completely free. When they’d broken up their actual relationship, and subsequently entered their publicity relationship, he and Eleanor had signed a two year contract, and when it was finally coming to its close in January 2013, Modest! had called them in for renegotiation. Neither of them had wanted to renew, sick and tired of the lies and the hassle, and somewhere along the way they’d gone from a friendship to mild dislike. They were sick of each other, plain and simple. They had somehow been talked into signing a six month contract though, in order for PR to set up a believable break-up, and Louis had finally been officially single in June 2014.

So when the tour was done, not only did he not have to worry about his obligations to One Direction, he also didn’t have to keep up appearances when it came to his supposed relationship with Eleanor. So he’d spent the first little while on his sofa playing shitty FIFA games and eating the kind of food Harry would have scolded him for.

He felt restless quickly though and took to writing a lot, penning plenty of potential songs for their upcoming album, even selling some to other artists. He grew frustrated, though, with his lack of musical talent, and decided one day to take up piano again, intent this time on learning it one hundred percent. He’d hired a private teacher, and it had taken a lot of effort and time, but eventually he mastered the piano to the degree where he felt confident in his abilities.

Besides occupying himself with the piano, he’d volunteered for a position as a footie coach for a team of young boys in Doncaster, leaving him at home every Thursday for training and supper at his mums. It was nice, the feeling that he’d come closer to his family during the break, ever since he’d broken up with El, and no longer felt the pressure of lying and pretending when he was home.

The boys had seen each other a lot less than they’d liked, but they’d never lost contact. They were constantly keeping each other in the loop, from texting to calling to silly snapchats of what they were doing. And they met up of course, albeit not as much as they wished they could, what with all of their individual projects.

All in all, though, they were all happy when it came to the time to meet up and start working on their new album.

 

 

He’d gotten the phone call on a Tuesday morning.

“Good morning, Mr. Tomlinson,” a vaguely familiar voice had said when Louis had picked up his phone with his usual “Hello?”.

“This is Amanda Carter, Mr. Griffiths’ personal assistant. We’d like for you to come in for a meeting tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock, if you are free?”

Louis had frowned in confusion, but agreed nonetheless. “Right, um, yeah, sure. I’m free.”

“Splendid. 9 o’clock in conference room 2, please. We’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Tomlinson.”

 

 

That Tuesday morning – for all intents and purposes a Tuesday like all the rest – Louis would never have believed that in less than a month he’d be holding Harry’s hand, his _best_ _friend’s_ hand, for all the world to see, hundreds of camera-flashes going off, blinding them. Harry’s hand in his the only thing grounding him to the present.

And so it had begun.


	2. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again the biggest thank you to [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com/) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com/) for being the bestest best betaes and britpickers!
> 
> And [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com) for just being the best!
> 
> And without further ado - chapter I:

**AND THEN A BIT**

_Men måske er det her tiden_   
_Hvor det godt må være lidt ude af kontrol_   
_Måske er det her året_   
_Hvor vi ikke lover mere end vi kan holde_   
_Måske er de her dage_   
_Nogle vi husker som dem der satte os fri_

(Marie Key – ”De Her Dage”)

**CHAPTER I:**

Louis has always felt a bit like he was being summoned to a secret spy organisation when Modest! requested meetings like this, for some reason. Maybe it was the sort of mysterious call, the here’s-the-time-and-place-but-don’t-think-we’ll-bother-to-tell-you-why-you’re-being-summoned-call.

At any rate, he finds himself up bright and early, donning a maroon t-shirt and black skinny jeans cuffed at the bottom, showing off his tanned ankles and his “The Rogue” tattoo. On his feet he slips a pair of worn out black vans – no socks – and his hair is styled into a messy quiff. He grabs his sunglasses and jacket from a nearby chair, where he had recklessly disposed of them yesterday when he came back from a late night trip to Tesco, and makes his way out of his house, mentally checking that he hasn’t forgotten anything of importance.

Keys? Wallet? Phone? Check. Check Check.

He turns on the radio as he pulls out of his garage, listening to the last few lines of Little Mix’s newest single that is playing. He smiles slightly, remembering how lost Zayn had been when Perrie had really started working again after a year of domestic bliss. “But what am I supposed to do now, Louis?” He’d whined to Louis over the phone. Louis, the ever sympathetic chap that he is, had merely laughed at him and exclaimed that it wasn’t like Perrie had died or anything, she’d still be around.

Lucky for the girls, they’d managed to make a successful comeback – when they released their newest album 14 months after their hiatus had begun, it didn’t take long for them to be back where they’d been before their break, better even. It gave Louis hope that maybe the same would be the case for them. So far things were looking quite glum, though. They’d always prided themselves on having the best fans in the world. They were passionate and dedicated – if sometimes verging on the crazy – but above all else, they were loyal. Even though management had had plenty of worries regarding the fickleness of today’s teens, Louis had been positive that their fans would still be there when they returned.

Unfortunately, it seems like management might have been right. And it isn’t that people don’t remember them, or that they don’t still have fans, but it clearly isn’t the same. Not that he’d expected it to be the same, but…

Ever since they began making their next album five months ago, PR has worked around the clock to amp up the boys, and gather the following they used to have. It seems, though, that people are over 1D. Little Mix had only been away for a year, and they’d managed to hold on to their fanbase pretty successfully, and those they’d lost they either won back once their newest album had been released, or they had gained new fans to make up for those who disappeared. It appears that a year is the limit for a teenage girl’s attention span. One Direction is nearing two, and while things aren’t exactly at “we-might-as-well-give-up-no-one-likes-us-anymore”-level, they are nowhere near the comeback the boys had hoped to make. And the thing is, it’s not like the 12 years olds are their target market any more – they’ve grown up a lot since, they’re no longer the teenage lads who sang _Torn_ with great gusto. They’re older, more mature, and so is their music. Ideally they’d like to attain an older audience, someone more their own age – but how do you do that when people still see you as an 18-year old with Justin Bieber hair?

Louis sighs as he pulls into the parking lot of the building where Modest! Management has their offices. He wonders briefly if that is what the meeting is about – a new PR strategy to get the band back to its former glory, perhaps. He’d like to see how they’d play that one.

In all honesty Louis is none too fond of Modest! nor of HJPR nor the publicity schemes in general. He’d been a part of one for the better part of two and a half years, and it had been awful.

He’d dated Eleanor casually for about four months, when they’d both agreed that they were much better suited as friends than as lovers. Like any respectable pop star, he’d informed their PR team about their split so that they could figure out how to deal with it, and that was when the charade that would be his life for the next two and a half years began. He’d been called into a meeting not unlike like this one, and had met a confused Eleanor in the car park, who told him that she had been sent for as well. When they had entered the conference room (number one that time) the head of their publicity team had informed him that they would like for him to continue dating Eleanor. A split now would only be like adding fuel to the fire that was the ‘Larry Stylinson’ rumours, because as long as there had been a One Direction, there had been rumours that Louis was gay and in a relationship with Harry.  And even though it wasn’t and isn’t true (the relationship with Harry at any rate, the gay thing might have more truth to it) that didn’t seem to make much of a difference to their management.

They had wanted to sell One Direction, and having too much speculation about Louis and Harry’s sexuality would apparently not be beneficial. Straight boys would sell records, gay boys would not. At least that’s what they’d thought then.

Looking back on it now, Louis can’t for the life of him figure out how they got Eleanor and him to agree to the scheme, but they had, and before they knew it they had agreed to continue to date publicly. It was fine in the beginning. El was his friend, and if they had to go shopping a few times, hold hands and exchange a few chaste kisses that was fine with him. He wasn’t really looking to date anyone else, so it wasn’t like it put a damper on his social life. They were either touring or promoting or working hard on their next album, so even if he’d wanted to, they were in no position for him to start new relationships.

So really, the pseudo-dating had been fine in the beginning, what hadn’t been as fine was when he was told that he and Harry would have to limit their public and stage interactions to a bare minimum. Appear to the outside world as though they weren’t even friends anymore. Apparently the so-called Larry-shippers merely regarded Eleanor as a beard, and continued to think that Harry and Louis were in an actual relationship. Louis had to admire their dedication – even if it wasn’t actually true.

Sure his and Harry’s friendship was and still is rather special – certainly not like the ones he shares with the other boys, or anyone else in his life really, but they had never been romantically involved. They were best mates, closer than Louis had ever been to anyone else, but they were never a couple.

At any rate they were forced to go from hanging all over each other to barely interacting when in front of other people. They were constantly seated as far away from each other as possible during interviews, their team sometimes even going as far as to splitting the band into two different groups for separate ones, but of course never with Louis and Harry in the same group.

It had put a definite strain on their relationship in the beginning, and Harry had found it particularly difficult to come to terms with. An idealist and optimist like no other, bless that boy, he hadn’t been able to quite see how their public interactions could harm the band – after all, as Harry often argued, there was a certain percentage the fandom who thought they were, and wanted them to be, together. Also Harry was quite comfortable with his sexuality, and had long been pressuring management to let him come out publicly. Louis secretly thinks that if there was one person on planet earth who could come out as gay, and not experience any backlash from the fact, it will be Harry Styles. Even now though, six years since they’d formed the band Harry has still not been allowed to confirm his sexuality once and for all (that being another fine clause in their hiatus compromise with their management). Neither had Louis for that matter, but unlike Harry, Louis wasn’t quite sure he even wanted to, at least not yet. Possibly not for another hundred years.

Louis crosses the parking lot (luckily not running into Eleanor this time), and upon entering the Modest! building, with the last time he’d been summoned like this in mind… yeah, you could colour him apprehensive, all right.

He visibly shakes his head, as if trying to rid himself of such thoughts, and smiles and nods in greeting at a couple of businessmen who are waiting for the lift. As it arrives, Louis enters and pushes the button for the 8th floor, before pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the time. 8:47 is showing on the screen of his iPhone, and Louis allows himself a short moment to internally celebrate the fact that he, for once in his life, apparently isn’t late. It shouldn’t be such a big feat, but it really, really is. Louis is one of those people who are notoriously late, unless he has someone else managing his time for him, and even then, more often than not, he’ll still not make it on time.

This time though, he’s even a bit early, and, Louis figures, if there ever was a time to be punctual it would be now. The meeting had been requested by one of the heads of Modest! Management after all, and though he is none too fond of the man, he doesn’t think being late would improve their relationship in any way.

He gets off as the lift dings, and strolls past the reception desk without announcing who he is or why he is there. He might have been on hiatus for two years, but he is still Louis Tomlinson, and if the receptionist can’t recognize him, well, he feels very sorry for her then; living under a rock with no interaction with the outside world for _at least_ four and a half years, as she must have been, can’t have been very fun.

He’s had his fair share of interaction with Modest! over the last six months, so he finds his way to conference room two easily, but he is unable to shake off the thought that this meeting is different. The way they have gone about it – secret spy organisation, Louis thinks again – is decidedly different than the other times, where it had simply been scheduled into their weekly itineraries they received with times announcing recording time, interviews and so on.

As he reaches for the door handle, he decides not to ponder too much over it, he will know what they want in a moment anyway, so no use fretting about it now.

Upon entering the room the first thing he sees is the back of someone else.

“Morning, Haz,” Louis says cheerfully, as he steps further into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. It’s kind of a relief that this isn’t a one-on-one meeting – that the other lads will be here too.

Harry startles slightly at his greeting, having clearly not heard the door opening. “Christ, Lou,” he says, trying to sound exasperated, but managing to do so quite miserably due to the large grin that had spread over his face when he saw Louis. At twenty-two Harry has only gotten more gorgeous (Shut up. Louis is so allowed to appreciate beauty when it is presented so nicely to him). He is still as hipster as ever, with his quiffed up curls, white t-shirt that shows just the perfect amount of his collarbones and tattoos to be intriguing, while still leaving some to the imagination. Though, if there is a self-respecting straight female or gay male (ahem, anyone really) who has yet to google pictures of Harry Styles shirtless… well, Louis feels really, very sorry for them. They clearly don’t know what they are missing. Also, if Louis just might be able to make out Harry’s butterfly tattoo through the white fabric of the t-shirt, well, he certainly isn’t complaining.

Harry narrows his eyes, and for a second Louis is afraid that he has caught him blatantly checking him out, which, you know, would definitely fall under the categories of ‘awkward’ and ‘situations best avoided’.

“You’re early,” Harry says instead, and, well, _phew_.

Louis grins. “Don’t sound so surprised, love. It has been known to happen.”

“Once every second decade, perhaps.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, somewhat in agreement, as he takes the seat next to Harry. Deciding to change the subject, he voices the question he has been mulling over since finding Harry waiting already. “Where are the others? It’s not like Liam not to be here yet.”

“I don’t know,” Harry replies. “I was starting to wonder if they’d called us all in to separate meetings or something, but I suppose not now that we’re both here.”

“Yeah,” Louis finds himself agreeing, “I’m sure they’ll be here any moment.”

Harry hums in agreement. “So, any exciting news?”

“Oh, yes,” Louis drawls sarcastically. “I’ve been on all sorts of thrilling adventures since we parted ways yesterday afternoon after rehearsals.”

Harry rolls his eyes at him, but laughs nonetheless. “You never know, Lou. You might have had a hot date, or something.” He nudges Louis teasingly with his elbow.

“Oh, yes,” comes Louis’ seriously reply. “Did have one as a matter of fact. Dreadfully hot one actually. Involved just me and two guys call-“

“Hey!” Harry interrupts him, holding up his hands to signal for Louis to stop. “I do _not_ want to hear about what you do in the bedroom.”

Louis laughs and shakes his head. It had always been ridiculously easy to tease Harry, and Louis loves it. “Me and two men called Ben and Jerry, Harry.” He pauses for a moment, before grinning stupidly. “Hey, that rhymed!”

Harry shakes his head, but can’t hide the smile threatening to break out on his face. “I swear to god, Lou, sometimes it’s like you really are five years old.”

“Well, I certainly hope that today’s five-year-olds aren’t making sexual jokes, but maybe that’s just me...”

Harry opens his mouth to retort, but before he can get a word out, the doors opens once again.

“Ah, Harry, Louis,” Richard Griffiths greets them, as he steps into the room followed by Harry Magee and what appears to be Simon Jones and One Direction’s entire PR-team and then some. “How lovely that you could join us at such a short notice.”

Louis and Harry exchange confused glances, but are soon forced to turn their attention to greeting all the new people. Shaking hands and murmuring polite greetings, they quickly find themselves seated opposite the two founders of Modest! Management, with the rest of the people scattered around them.

“Right,” Harry Magee says. “Let’s just get down to business, shall we?” He folds his hands on top of the table and coughs slightly. In any other circumstance, Louis would probably have admired the man’s ability to cut to the chase and skipping all the small talk, but in this instance he is just plain confused.

It seems that so is Harry. “Wait a minute,” he says. “Aren’t we waiting for the others?”

Griffiths and Magee exchanges a quick glance before Griffiths clears his throat and answers: “It’s just the two of you for this meeting.”

Louis raises his eyebrow and, okay, that was unexpected. A group meeting, or, hell, even an individual meeting would have made sense, but a meeting only involving him and Harry, now that _is_ strange. The similarities to the last time Louis had been called into a meeting without all the other boys are starting to make him uncomfortable, but he attempts to suppress those thoughts. Best not make mountains out of molehills, and all that.

As though Harry can hear what Louis is thinking, and can feel Louis’ mild panic, he reaches over and places his hand on top of Louis’ where it is resting on his own thigh and squeezes gently. Louis can’t suppress the gentle smile that takes over his features, and, quite instinctively, turns his hand around and laced his fingers through Harry’s.

It should be weird, but it isn’t. It’s just them.

“Right,” Magee clears his throat again, beginning where he’d left off when Harry interrupted him. “As you’re both aware your fan base isn’t quite in the numbers we’d like it to be, and even though it is improving steadily as we near the release of your album, and all the promo you’re doing does seem to help, it’s not enough.”

“What we need,” a lady from their PR-team speaks, “is something big, something that will draw the attention of the world’s media and bring back those fans who’ve yet to return to the fandom.”

“Are you talking about a PR-stunt?” Harry questions, his brow scrunched in a mixture of confusion and contemplation.

“Essentially, yes. We’ve been going over different scenarios based on which fans have remained loyal and which haven’t and also what we think could garner the kind of interest from both fans and media that is needed. And also what might make you interesting enough for new people to check out your new music.”

“Harry, you’ve been pressuring us to let you come out for nearly as long as we have been representing you,” Griffiths says, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Harry. “Now is that time.”

Harry’s frown deepens. “What has that got to do with Louis?” He questions.

“Everything,” Simon Jones answers, and Louis really, really doesn’t like that man. “While womanizer Harry Styles coming out certainly is newsworthy, it still wouldn’t do anything but alienate fans, and we definitely have no interest in doing so. However, if _both_ of you were to come out-“

“But Louis has never expressed any interest in coming out.” Harry interrupts. Louis notes how, even though Harry is talking as slow as ever, there is a hard edge to his voice that is rarely present.

“Perhaps not,” Griffiths agrees. “But I’m sure Louis is willing to make a few sacrifices for the benefit of the band.” So yeah, Louis really, really doesn’t like him either.

“He shouldn’t have to!” Harry protests hotly. “His sexuality isn’t something for you to exploit before he is ready to-“

“It’s fine, Haz,” Louis hears himself say, even though it really, really isn’t. The mere thought of going public with his sexuality is enough to make his insides curl into tight balls of white burning panic. He has come to term with the fact that he holds very little interest in the female sex, but it is not something he particularly wants to share with the rest of the world. The amount of people who would be queuing up to say ‘I told you so’ is reason enough alone to put such an announcement off indefinitely. He squeezes Harry’s hand which is still clasped in his under the table to reassure him that he is okay, and he feels Harry relax slightly, the death grip he’s had on Louis’ hand loosening somewhat. “I don’t see how having two gay people in one band is going to be any less alienating to fans. You’ve preached to us enough times that we need to appear available to the fans, like we might actually date one of them someday, so having not one member, but two, announcing that they’re gay seems to be particularly counterproductive.”

The PR lady smirks at him. “Yes,” she agrees. “You are quite right, Mr. Tomlinson, under normal circumstances it certainly would be somewhat akin to professional suicide, but the two of you _are_ a rather special case. For as long as there has been a One Direction, there have been speculations about your relationship-” She nods between Harry and Louis with her head.

“Louis and I are just friends, always have been.” Harry interrupts, his posture stiff.

“Yes, we’re aware of that. The fans, however, clearly aren’t.”

“Where are you going with this?” Louis asks, tired of beating around the bush. If they are about to suggest what he is starting to be afraid they are, he wants them to say it as quickly as possible, so that he can respond with a resounding ‘HELL NO!’, and drag Harry out of the conference room like a bat out of hell.

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Louis is quite sure that had he dropped a pin it would have positively echoed. It seems that everyone is holding their breaths, waiting for Louis and Harry’s reactions.

And yes, it is _exactly_ what Louis had feared they were going to say, as soon as they had begun talking about Larry Stylinson. Even though Louis had sort of, kind of seen it coming, and his reaction most certainly still is ‘ _absolutely fucking not’,_ he finds himself stunned into silence. Definitely not something that happens to him often.

“No.” Harry’s voice seems to startle them all out of their momentary trance. “No.” He repeats, hostility lacing his voice. “Never in a million years.” And right, okay, Louis understands the reluctance, really, he is very much on the same page as Harry, but does he really need to sound like the mere prospect of dating Louis is the very epitome of everything bad in life?  
“Louis is not going through another public farce like his relationship with Eleanor. He is a person. We are people. We aren’t pawns in your little game of chess against the rest of the world.”

Okay. So, yeah, maybe it is more of the fact that Harry is the best mate ever and a fucking good person, and less the fact that he likens dating Louis to eating his own weight in snails or something equally disgusting. Good to know, you know, for future reference.

The PR lady (Laura? Lauren? Something like that) purses her lips and narrows her eyes at Harry. “We are quite aware that you are human beings, Mr. Styles. And I can assure you that we only have the band’s best interest at heart. If you have any wish for One Direction to reach its former glory, something needs to be done.”

Harry actually snorts, and Louis feels that maybe it is time he shakes himself out of his trance and joins the conversation. “Forgive me if I’m wrong,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But as far as I know, we make music, and last time I checked we have a pretty damn good album out soon. Like by far the best album yet, and, you know, this might be a foreign concept, but how about we let the music speak for itself, yeah?”

Griffiths shakes his head. “That’s not going to be enough boys. We’d like to let the music speak for itself, let that be what brings you new fans, but for that to happen, people would actually have to listen to it.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “That’s a bit harsh, innit? It’s not like we’re some long forgotten indie band. People do still care.”

“But not enough.” Jones states. “You are returning from your hiatus, and we need something to keep you in the media while we promote the new album. We need something controversial to grab the public’s attention. In this case all publicity really is good publicity, and something like this would point the spotlight straight at you. If we can haul people in through your relationship, they’ll most likely stay for your music. We need to get people talking about you. The more you’re talked about in the tabloids, in newspapers, online, the more people hear about you, the more people are intrigued by what you’ve come up with this time.”

Louis opens his mouth, not entirely sure what he is going to say, except that it certainly is not going to be an acceptance of their plan. He never gets to speak, though, before a timid voice sounds from his left. He has quite forgotten that everyone and their grandma is present at the meeting, so it is quite a surprise when someone other than Griffiths, Magee, Jones or PR-lady speaks.

“Perhaps a compromise is to be made here,” the man says. He is quite young, probably around Louis’ own age, and Louis suspects he is most likely fresh out of school. It is quite the job to have landed. “If we were to launch their relationship and the public reacted badly to it, it would be disastrous for the band. Maybe we should give it a test run, so to speak. Let Louis and Harry interact more in public. Set up a few photo ops where they are doing things just the two of them – I don’t know, going to the supermarket, having dinner alone, and then see how the public reacts to it. See if it increases the interest in the band or decreases it. If it does help gather the former hysteria about the band, perhaps Harry and Louis will reconsider, and if it turns out that people are not on board Team Larry anymore we can very easily say that they are just friends as always.”

His monologue is followed by silence, and Louis uses the opportunity to steal a glance at Harry. To his immense surprise, he finds Harry staring right back at him. Upon making eye contact, Harry raises an eyebrow in question, and inclines his head towards Louis, seeming to say that that it is entirely up to him.

And in all honesty, Louis really can’t see the harm in what the man had suggested. Spending some time with Harry, he could do that. He could definitely, definitely do that. In fact, it sounds really, bloody _nice_.

He shrugs at Harry with a half-smile, as if saying ‘might as well’. Harry squeezes his hand, and oh, Louis had quite forgotten that their fingers were still intertwined.

“Okay,” he says, breaking the silence. “We’re not agreeing to fake a relationship, but we’ll… test the waters, so to speak. And if this… this _publicity stunt_ ” he spits out the words like they were something disgusting, “seems to actually help the band’s popularity, perhaps we’ll reevaluate pretending.” The words taste bitter in his mouth, and he can’t help but feel like they are selling out. They’re good; they are really, fucking good. So, so much better than they’d been two years ago, with an amazing album they’ve actually written all by themselves, and it feels sort of dirty that they have to resort to fake relationships and manipulating the public in order to be deemed successful.

The way Griffiths, Magee and Jones are smiling at him tells him that they know they have won. It is bloody unfair that it seems like no matter what, they are caught in a bubble of pretending, like they can never just be who they are. They have to keep moulding themselves to what Management feels will make them the most money. But this will be the last time, Louis vows to himself, after this, when One Direction are back to its former glory, they are never going to pretend to be something they’re not again.

Louis sighs. “Well, if that’s all, I’d really like to get going. I’m a busy bee. Songs to write, music to record – you know, things members of bands do when not creating humungous publicity stunts to fool the rest of the world.” Out of the corner of his eye, Louis can see Harry’s lips curl into a small, morbidly amused smile.

“Right,” Magee says. “We’ll contact you regarding your photo ops. I should think perhaps a trip to the supermarket would be manageable by tomorrow?”

The PR-lady nods. “I think that would be a nice way to start out. We’ve already lifted the photo ban on shots of Louis and Harry together as of yesterday, so that’s already taken care of. Why don’t you go there around four o’clock tomorrow afternoon? Which store shall I send the paparazzi to?”

“There’s a Tesco near my place.” Harry answers, and then turns his attention to Louis. “I’ll cook us dinner afterwards at my place, eh? Unless you have plans?”

Louis shakes his head. “No plans.” He confirms, and, really, as far as publicity stunts and fake relationships goes, this one seems pretty okay so far. A little trip to Tesco and a home-cooked meal with Harry – yeah, Louis can definitely think of worse things.

Harry’s answering smile is blinding. “Great,” he says. “Well, now that’s settled we really do need to go. We’re meeting with the lads at noon, and I’d really like to have some breakfast before then.” Leaving little room for argument, Harry gets up from his chair and Louis follows suit.

As they reach the door, Louis turns around and salutes them with a mocking grin, before saying: “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but my mum taught me not to lie.” He does not spare any time to gauge their reactions, simply spins on his heels and drags a grinning Harry by the wrist towards the elevator.

Once inside the elevator an awkward silence stretches between the two of them. It seems that neither is quite sure how to behave now that it is just the two of them. Louis has been so adamant that he would never be a part of a publicity stunt like the one he had entered with Eleanor again, but somehow they have managed to con him into agreeing anyway. Sure, he hasn’t agreed to the relationship-stuff outright, but Louis is fairly certain that that is where they’ll all end up regardless. You can say many things about One Direction’s management and PR-team – especially in regards to morals and methods, but one thing you cannot ignore, is that they are good at what they do. They know how to create results, and Louis would bet most of his savings that since Modest! has predicted it will work, it will.

“So…” Harry finally breaks the silence. “That was unexpected, huh?”

Louis smiles wryly and shakes his head. “Not entirely, no. There were eerily many similarities to the time I was called here with Eleanor.”

“Oh, right. For a second I’d forgotten that…” Harry trails off, and gestures absently with his hands.   

“What? That I’ve been here, done this? I am quite an expert at having a fake relationship.” Louis supplies. He meant for it to come out jokingly, but it sounded more bitter than anything else.

Harry’s wince and his soft “Lou-“ tells Louis that he noticed as well.

“No, Haz,” Louis interrupts him softly, his hand moving up to tug gently at one of Harry’s curls that has gone astray. “Christ, I didn’t mean it like that. This is nothing like with El.”

Harry shakes his head, frowning. “Except it’s really, really the same, Lou, and you were bloody miserable back then.”

“It’s not the same, Harry, really. And I wasn’t miserable, not really. The whole charade sucked, yeah, but it wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been forced to practically cut you out of my life. That was by far the worst part. You are my best mate, Haz. In all honesty, this is just a glorified reason for us to spend ridiculous amounts of time together. It’ll be so much you’ll grow quite sick of me.”

Harry shakes his head again, curls bouncing, but this time he is smiling. “Not possible, Lou. Really, really not possible.”

Something warm spreads in Louis’ chest, but he is saved from having to analyse it by, literally, the bell, as it signals that they are back on the ground floor. Harry tugs him through the doors by his wrist, and Louis can’t help by notice how Harry’s huge hand circles around his wrist like it is no larger than that of a child.

“Louis? Louis?” Harry’s voice pulls him back to reality as he tears his gaze from their hands and moves his focus to Harry’s face.

“Sorry,” Louis says. “Must’ve spaced out for a moment there. You said?”

“I asked, if you wanted to get something to eat with me? It’ll be like our very first proper fake-date, yeah?”

“Sure.” Louis nods. “I didn’t really have anything but some tea this morning, so food sounds really good.”

Harry grins. “Great, I know this really great caff not too far from here, does the best fry-up of your life.”

“Lead the way then, young Harold.”

Harry bumps his hip against Louis’ and shakes his head, grinning. “Not so young anymore, Tomlinson.”

And, oh, only Harry would consider twenty-two to be ‘not-so-young-anymore’, but then again Harry has been through more in his twenty-two years of living than most go through in a lifetime.

“You’ll always be young to me.” He keeps his tone purposeful light and joking.

Harry nods seriously in reply. “We did sing Forever Young.”

Laughing out loud, Louis agrees, “That we did, Haz. That we did.”

 

 

 

Turns out Harry is right, the place really does serve a fantastic fry-up. They had been seated immediately in the otherwise busy café, so Louis supposes that there still is some star quality connected with their names. It is ridiculous how easy it is for them to fall back into their old dynamics, almost like no time has passed. It isn’t that they hadn’t spent time together during the hiatus, all the boys had made conscious efforts to make sure that they talked regularly (like it was actually even a possibility for them not to) and met up as often as possible, and of course Louis and Harry had met up just the two of them whenever they could. They had spent plenty of time together over the last six months as well, writing, recording and fine-tuning their album until it was to their satisfaction, but it is so very, very long since they had been just the two of them in a public setting like this. Conversation flowed easily between them though, steering clear of anything related to the meeting they’d just left and ignoring the people around them.

Their friendship has always been effortless, and Louis doesn’t think there is a single person in his life that he is ever more in sync with than Harry. They steal food off each other’s plates, laugh at each other’s bad jokes and talk about everything from when Zayn and Perrie would have their first kid (a couple of years to go, they decided, at least until the mere thought of it didn’t scare Zayn shitless) to how many different kind of take-away there would be at Zayn’s (a lot, they agreed on, since Niall was bringing the food, and he could never settle on just one thing; usually craving Chinese spring rolls at the same time as pepperoni pizza and a green curry).

When they’d finished their food, Louis pulls out his wallet and pays for everything before Harry can even as much as reach for his.

“Hey!” Harry protests. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Wanted to,” Louis says sincerely, before his lips curls into a smirk. “Besides haven’t you heard that you should always be a gentleman and pay for your date’s meal?”

Harry huffs. “I’m paying for dinner tomorrow, then. And the next time we go out.”

“Next time, my my.” Louis teases. “You sure are confident, huh? Maybe you won’t get another date.”

“I’ll have you know we already have one scheduled for tomorrow, so there.”

“I suppose I walked straight into that one. Fair enough. Should we-“ Louis is interrupted by a soft, nervous cough. Turning towards where the noise had sounded, Louis is met with two girls in their late teens.

“We don’t mean to interrupt anything,” one of the girls begins nervously, and, oh, polite, that’s nice. “We just, uhm, we really, really like your music-“

“Massive fans!” The other one interrupts enthusiastically.

The first one smiles, apparently put somewhat at ease by her friend’s passion. “Yeah, we’re so excited for your new album.”

“Thank you,” Harry grins. “We’re very happy to be back.”

Both girls smile, visibly more relaxed, and that’s really a tribute to Harry’s people skills, because he is the very epitome of calm and polite and just plain nice, you’d have to be completely inhuman not to feel at ease around him.

“Could we maybe have a picture, and maybe, like, an autograph?”

This time it’s Louis who answers: “Absolutely!” He smiles at them, and wow, okay, maybe Harry’s rubbing off on him, or maybe Louis has genuinely missed this, because he finds himself grinning stupidly as the girls each take pictures wedged in between himself and Harry. It’s silly, and he loves it.  
And, okay, it’s not like he hasn’t taken his fair share of fan photos during their hiatus – particularly now that the promo for the new album is picking up, but it’s been fucking years since he could do so with Harry, and somehow that just makes it so, so infinitely better.

They write out autographs to the girls, Louis even taking his time to write a little personal greeting, and shit morning aside this is turning out to be a really great day. As Harry hands over the notebooks he has scribbled his name in to the girls, Louis grins at them and asks: “Anything else?” in his very best shopkeeper-voice. He is expecting them to laugh a bit, maybe (probably) blush and be on their way, but the shy one hesitates.

“Could I, ehm, could I maybe get a photo just the two of you?”

Louis glances at Harry and finds him grinning down at him. “Of course!” Harry says, and sneaks his arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him closer. Louis leans into Harry per instinct, and just as the girl readies her iPhone, Louis is struck by a sudden devilish inspiration. He stands on the tip of his toes (damn Harry and that growth spurt), tugs Harry’s arm to tilt Harry towards him, and just as he hears the camera shutter go off, he presses his lips against Harry’s cheek.

Pulling back he turns to the girls and grins. “How was that, babe? Okay?”

And yeah, based on the way she’s blushing and nodding and grinning, Louis thinks that it’s quite all right. He gives them a parting wave, and pulls Harry along with him in the opposite direction of the girls. It takes him a few moments to register that Harry is being uncharacteristically quiet, and shit, Louis hadn’t even considered that maybe wouldn’t be okay with Louis sudden show of PDA.

“Shit, Haz, I didn’t-“ he starts to apologize.

“No, no, Lou. It’s okay, it’s perfect. You just caught me off guard, is all.” Harry interrupts and okay, is Louis imagining this, or is Harry’s voice deeper, more hoarse?

He shakes his head, imagining things is the first sign of insanity, isn’t that what they say? Or maybe that’s talking to yourself?

“Well, great. Fantastic. Can’t have my fake boyfriend think my lips are disgusting, now can we?”

Harry shakes his head, fondly exasperated. “Only you, Lou.” He says. “Only you.”

“Hey, we both know you love me, babe.”

“I do though, you know.” Harry says, and there is no trace of humour in his voice anymore. “I do love you.”

Louis smiles, because, yeah, he really, really loves this boy – man – in front of him too. He tells Harry as much, and Harry’s shoulders visibly ease, as if he was questioning how much Louis cared. Stupid boy if he’s ever thought that Louis has done anything but loved him.

“Best mate ever.” Louis adds, and bumps his shoulder against Harry’s. For a second something funny crosses Harry’s face, but it is gone as quickly as it came, and maybe Louis just imagined it.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Best mates.”

 

 

Louis pulls up in front of Zayn’s house half an hour later, Harry hot on his tail in his own car. As he climbs out of the car, Louis locks it and leans against it, waiting for Harry as he parks his car and makes his way towards Louis. They fall into step as they walk up the path to Zayn and Perrie’s front door in companionable silence. It’s one of Louis’ favourite things, the way he can just be with Harry. There is no need to fill the silence with inane chatter or awkward small talk or even deep conversations. They are both perfectly content to just walk in silence, appreciating the other’s company.

When they reach the door, Louis moves his hand to the doorknob, ready to push open the door and enter – they have long since abolished the need to ring a doorbell and wait to enter when they know the others are coming, but Harry reaches out and stops him. The feel of Harry’s big hand encasing Louis’ own with its warmth send unexpected shivers through Louis’ body, and he automatically looks up at Harry, an inquisitive look dominating his face.

Louis raises his eyebrow in question, and Harry bites his lip, appearing nervous. “Do we tell them?” He questions eventually. Louis frowns, and Harry immediately backtracks, seeming to realize how that sounded. “I mean- I mean, of course we tell them, but, like, now? Do we do it now? Or later? Or…” He trails off, looking at Louis with big eyes and looking so much like Harry Styles, sixteen, that Louis feels his chest ache a bit.

Louis turns the hand Harry is covering gently and intertwines their fingers, rubbing his thumb in soothing motions over the back of Harry’s hand. “Perhaps,” Louis starts slowly, because, honestly, he hasn’t really had time to think all of this through, can barely wrap his own head around it, hasn’t even considered how the other boys might feel about it. “Perhaps we should wait until we are done with the meeting today? I mean, like, definitely tell them today, but maybe get the business bit over with first?”

Harry nods and bites his lip. “Yes,” he says. “That sounds like a good idea.” Louis smiles at him, squeezes Harrys hand before dropping it and together they enter Zayn’s house.

“Oooooooiiiii!” Louis shouts loudly, making their entrance known as they move through the hall towards the living room.

“In here!” He hears Liam shout from the kitchen, and they alter their route slightly to take them there instead.

“Hello boys.” Louis says, grin wide, when he and Harry enter the kitchen. The other three boys are already there, trying to make sense of all the takeaway Niall has brought for their lunch (enough to feed a small army).

“Hungry?” Niall asks, forgoing any sort of formal greeting while Zayn and Liam mumble their hellos, grins matching Louis’. Liam rolls his eyes fondly at Niall.

“Not particularly,” Louis answers honestly. “Just had the best fry-up I’ve had since living with Haz.”

Niall huffs, but then shrugs. “More for me, then, I s’pose.” He grins then. “Did you two arrive together? Better be careful you don’t set off those Larry rumours again.”

Louis can see Harry shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of his eyes. “Separate cars, mate.” Louis answers, shrugging. He’s always the one answering questions regarding his and Harry’s relationship, and it’s not exactly that Louis minds, but sometimes he wonders what it is that makes Harry just so uncomfortable about it.

Niall grins and shrugs, picking up as much of the food as he can carry and brings it into the dining room. Liam and Zayn do the same, and between the three of them they’ve managed to carry it all, leaving Harry and Louis to follow them empty handed. Louis takes a step towards the door, but is stopped when he feels Harry take a hold of his elbow. He turns half-way around, facing Harry and lifts an eyebrow in question at the younger man again.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, trying to make sense of the funny expression on Harry’s face. He looks like a mixture between slightly embarrassed, very pleased and just plain happy.

“You like my fry-up better?” Harry asks, his grin widening, making his dimples appear (one of Louis favourite, _favourite_ things about Harry. Yes, definitely).

Louis smiles slightly. “I’ve yet to have a fry-up that could beat yours, Haz.” He says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and he feels slightly ridiculous for being so mushy over something like breakfast. It is the truth though. Very, very much the truth. The way Harry’s smile broadens even more (quite frankly to ridiculous levels – it looks like it ought to be painful, almost) makes it all worth it, though. Sometimes Louis forgets that Harry is still very much the same boy he was when he was 16, and that a sincere compliment from Louis somehow still seems to make Harry just so, so happy. Louis doesn’t quite understand it, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy how he could make Harry shine like the sun, just by being honest. Harry is showered in compliments daily, but for some reason it has always meant more to him when they came from Louis.

“Quite frankly,” he continues, “it’s a proper tragedy that it’s been years – _years_ , Harold – since I last had it.”

He feels Harry move closer to him, and suddenly he is pressed into Louis from behind. Louis goes still, completely still. Frozen in a unique mixture of shock and anticipation. He feels Harry’s enormous hands where they come to rest on each side of his waist. He can feel every inch of Harry’s toned body, as Harry presses himself against Louis, can feel Harry’s soft curls graze his cheek as Harry leans his head down until his mouth is level with Louis’ ear, his lips soft against it, his breath hot.

“Well, since we’re apparently going to be dating,” Harry’s says slowly, quietly, his voice a deep rumble. “I suppose there’ll be plenty of sleep-overs where I can cook you breakfast.”

Harry pulls back, and, honest, Louis nearly whimpers (thank _God_ he doesn’t, because, lord, yeah, that would have been embarrassing). Harry moves past him, towards the entrance to the dining room, but stops and looks back at Louis, throwing a cheeky grin his way. “For appearances, of course.” He adds, and before Louis has time to even comprehend Harry’s words, he is alone in the kitchen, standing frozen like an idiot.

And, okay, what the _hell_ was that?!

  
**  
**

 

The thing is, Louis thinks as he’s seated around Zayn and Perrie’s dinner table, this band meeting business is really pretty, fucking pointless. It made sense when they were putting together the album, planning the tour, getting proper ready for their comeback; because they were determined that this time around the ball was going to be in their court. They made a deal with each other that at least once a month (they’d been going once a week when the album was really shaping up) they’d sit down just the five of them – no managers, no Paul, only them – and they’d talk it all through without any outside influences. Which songs did they really want on the record? How strongly did they feel about playing a show in Finland, were they willing to fight the tour planners on it? It was probably one of the best decisions they’d made since coming back to work. Now they walked into all their other meetings as a united front, having already decided what they wanted, and they didn’t bend nor bow until they had it exactly how they wanted it (Louis thinks that had management not cornered Harry and him alone, they’d never have ended up in this charade).

The result was an album and a tour that they could stand behind, proudly, one hundred percent.

They’re done with the album, though, the tour is mostly planned, all their promo is decided upon and there really isn’t a reason for them to have this meeting right now. It was more out of habit than anything else that they scheduled it.

It’s nice, though, just sitting around the table talking and laughing with his four best mates. Zayn and Harry are involved in an intense debate over some book Louis has never even heard the name of before, and he’s discussing the new FIFA with Liam while Niall is oblivious to all of them, tapping away at his phone.

Louis is distracted from his conversation with Liam when he hears Niall clear his throat. Turning his attention to Niall, the first thing Louis notices is how his eyes seem to flicker between Louis and Harry, a strange expression on his face.

“What?” Harry asks, having also turned his attention from Zayn to Niall. Harry has obviously also noticed the strange way Niall is acting, and Louis sees Harry glaze nervously at him out of the corner of his eyes.

Niall pushes his iPhone to the centre of the table. “There are three different Larry-related hashtags trending on twitter. Worldwide.” His voice sounds kind of funny, and for a second Louis is just in shock, because, okay, wow, three worldwide is quite a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. If Louis’ memory serves, it’s been a long time since anything Larry-related has really trended.

Before Louis can do it, Liam has scooped up Niall’s phone and he’s quickly frowning at the screen. “#LarryStylinson,” he reads. “#LarryIsReal, #LarryTogetherNeverSurrendered.” The lines in Liam’s forehead deepen as he frowns harder. He pats the touchscreen a few times, before raising his eyebrow at what he sees on the screen. The silence at the table is deafening, but Louis doesn’t quite know what he’s supposed to say to break it.

Liam finally looks up from the screen, his eyes finding Louis’. The confusion in Liam’s face is obvious, but it is mixed with a good amount of hurt, and Louis definitely, definitely doesn’t understand why Liam is hurt. Liam places the phone silently in the middle of the table, and they all subconsciously leans closer to get a look on what’s on the screen. Louis’ heart nearly stops when he sees a picture of himself kissing Harry’s cheek lovingly, staring back at him.

The picture on the phone is small, but, fuck, even in the tiny format, Louis has to admit they look good together. They look comfortable and happy and, what’s most scary, they look almost like a proper couple.

“Oh,” he hears Harry from besides him. Oh, all right, yeah. More like fuck, really, in Louis’ opinion, but whatever.

Liam snatches the phone of the table and scrolls a bit, his forehead creasing as he reads what is on the screen. For a moment there is total silence, and even Louis, who would usually just say something stupid, anything really, when silence like this occurs, finds himself absolutely speechless.

“’A Very Larry Christmas, or, well, August but whatever.’” Louis is momentarily confused, until he realizes that Liam is reading what is on the phone out loud. “We here at Sugarscape definitely feel like Christmas has arrived early this year. Our very favourites Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson of the greatly missed (and highly anticipated) One Direction were spotted together by fans earlier today. Why has that got our knickers in a twist, you ask? Well, Hazza and Loubear haven’t actually been spotted just the two of them privately for years, so we gotta ask ourselves: are Larry Stylinson back together? Were they ever apart? Have they ever been together? We sure would like to know. One thing is for sure, they do look mighty cosy together in the pictures from today, which show them eating an intimate brunch together and also… wait for it, getting all kissy and cute with each other. We’re definitely hoping it will be a recurring event. What do you think? Comment below the video.”

The silence that follows Liam’s reading is even worse than the previous. Louis doesn’t even know where to look, because what the hell? What the actual fucking hell? He can barely wrap his mind around it, much less even attempt to understand how Liam, Zayn and Niall must be feeling. Christ, this was not how they were supposed to learn about this.

Louis feels a hand come to rest on his thigh gently, and he nearly starts, before recognizing the touch as Harry’s.

“I think you owe us an explanation.” Zayn breaks the silence, his voice quiet and hurt. Louis’ eyes automatically fly to Zayn’s and the hurt Louis could hear in his voice is mirrored in Zayn’s eyes. It makes Louis’ heart ache.

“We were going to tell you after today’s meeting,” Louis start. “We-“

He’s interrupted by a sort of strangled sound coming from Liam. “But- but surely this must have been going on for a while… Why haven’t you told us? Did you think we wouldn’t be okay with it? What did we do that-“

“No.” Harry interrupts fiercely. “No. No. No. You’ve got it all wrong. Lou and I aren’t together.” Out of the corner of his eyes, Louis can see Harry shaking his head fiercely, his curls bouncing with the movement.

“What?” Niall questions and gestures towards the phone. “But what about-“

“That’s what we need to tell you.” Louis interrupts, and boy are they doing a lot of that today. “We were called into a meeting with management and PR today.”

“Just the two of you?” Liam questions, forehead knitting together in confusion.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms. “Just me and Lou. We thought it was really strange too, until they started talking and suddenly it made perfect sense why it was only us…” Harry trails off, and Louis places his hand on top of the one Harry still has resting on Louis’ thigh. He squeezes it gently, letting Harry know that he will take it from here.

“They want us to fake a relationship.” He says, trying to keep his tone neutral. The other three boy’s reactions are almost comical – their faces slacken, their mouths falling open in what looks like a poor attempt to imitate a goldfish. “Like, you know, pretend to date for publicity. To regain popularity and fans. Supposedly it would all of a sudden be a good thing to be gay, especially if we were so together.”

“You said no, right?” Zayn asks, clearly concerned.

Louis and Harry exchange glances, neither of them saying anything for a moment. Their hesitation is not lost on the other boys.

“Wait – you said yes? What?” Niall asks, his brow furrowing in clear confusion.

“We didn’t exactly –“ Harry pauses, speaking, if possible, even slower than usual. It’s like he is tasting the words, trying them out in his head to find the right combination. “Say yes. Like – well, we said we’d like… you know, try it out, I suppose.”

Zayn raises one of his perfectly sculptured eyebrows. “Try it out? Try out dating?”

Louis shakes his head. “No,” he can hear the frustration in his own voice, but it is so damn maddening that they can’t seem to explain it all properly to the boys. In all honesty, the whole situation is just so, so fucked up. “No, no. Of course Harry and I aren’t going to jump into a relationship because PR told us to. If we were ever going to be together it would have happened already I’m sure.” Harry’s hand twitches slightly under Louis’, and he glazes at the young boy, only to find that Harry is looking resolutely into his own lap, clearly not asking for Louis’ attention. Louis shrugs it off and continues: “But we’d all like for this album to sell, to get back on top, and, well, if Harry and I can help that along by spending some time together, then that’s not really that big a sacrifice, is it? So we didn’t exactly agree to it, but we did agree to appearing in public together a few times and seeing how people would react – to see if it really would help.”

“So today was for PR?” Liam asks.

“No.” Louis is momentarily startled by the fierceness in Harry’s answer, but quickly recovers and squeezes the younger boy’s hand in what is meant to be a reassuring way.

“No,” Louis agrees. “We don’t actually have our first planned photo-op until tomorrow. Today was just because Haz is my best friend, and we haven’t been able to do anything together in public just the two of us for fucking years. So, yeah, it felt bloody good to be able to go have breakfast together.”

Zayn breathes out a breath it seems he’s been holding in for a long time. “Okay,” he says softly, and then with more conviction. “Okay. Just, we love you, you know? We’d never ask you to do this, we’d never want you to do this if it isn’t something you really want. Like-“

“We get it, Zayn,” Harry interrupts. “And we’re not doing this is it doesn’t feel right, we’re not doing this if it’s going to be like with Lou and Eleanor. But, like, right now, it doesn’t seem that bad to be honest. I get to hang out with one of my favourite people in the entire world on a regular basis. We’re going food shopping and having dinner at my place tomorrow, that doesn’t exactly feel like a death sentence to me. Sure, the paps are going to be annoying, but we’re pretty used to them by now.”

“Okay,” Niall nods finally. “If that’s your decision, we’ll support you. Any way we can help, just let us know.” Zayn and Liam both murmur their agreement.

And that’s sort of it. Louis feels like it’s almost a tribute to their friendship that the lads know when to let it go. Either way the decision is made, and it means more than Louis thought it would to have the boys’ acceptance.

They carefully avoid the subject for the next hour, just chatting about this and that, and just enjoying each other’s company. It’s three o’clock when Niall decides that it’s time to go home, Liam following him 20 minutes later. At near four, Perrie returns home, greeting both Harry and Louis warmly, before planting a kiss on Zayn’s lips, innocent and so, so intimate all at once. Harry and Louis take it as their cue to leave.

They walk to their cars in silence, unconsciously stopping between the two, and Louis turns to face Harry, offering him a crooked smile. He sees the hesitation on Harry’s face for a second, barely able to wonder what it means, before the bigger boy steps towards him, timidly wrapping his arms around Louis.

It’s an instinct reaction for Louis to circle his arms around Harry and pull him closer, his chin resting on Harry’s shoulder. Harry tightens his hold on Louis when he feels him respond to the embrace, and Louis feels Harry turn his head slightly, feels the soft pressure of Harry’s lips against his hair. He doesn’t think, really, just reacts, and turns his own head slightly, pressing his lips against Harry’s bare skin, where his neck meets his shoulders. It’s such an intimate gesture, but it’s Harry, and Louis doesn’t really have time to contemplate his own actions.

“Thank you.” Harry breathes into his hair. “I know it’s such a shit situation, particularly for you. You never asked for any of this, not the coming out, not the fake relationship, and it’s so awfully selfish of me to allow you to do this, but –“ he pauses for a moment, and Louis rubs his back gently, allowing Harry to get this off his chest. “But I can’t help but be so happy, and so grateful, that I get to spend all this time with you. And I’m so sick of hiding who I am, so just..” He pauses again, and pulls Louis even closer to him, impossibly close. All Louis does is clutch Harry just as tight in response.

They stand there, clutching each other, for a few seconds, before Harry pulls back slightly. He moves his hands from around Louis and cups his face, cradles it between his large hands. He leans forward, resting his forehead against Louis’, and Louis’ fingers are rubbing soft circles on Harry’s hips like they have an actual life of their own.

“I’ve missed you.” Harry says quietly, his earnest eyes boring into Louis’. “I know that we’ve been spending time together, I know, but I’ve missed you so much all the same. I’ve missed being able to touch you without it being a national disaster in interviews, I’ve missed not having to constantly be aware of where you are so I could avoid you in public, I’ve missed being able to act exactly how I want to with you on stage, without having to worry about what management is going to say.” Louis clutches Harry’s hips a little tighter, so fucking endeared by the boy in front of him, laying out his feelings.

“I’ve missed you too, Harry.” He murmurs quietly. It’s like they are in a secret bubble of their own, and any loud noise might disrupt this time parallel they’ve managed to create for themselves. He moves one hand from Harry’s hip to his cheek, lightly stroking it. “And I love you,” he adds, because he feels like it’s something Harry needs to hear, and because it’s the truth. “I love you so much, you know that, right?”

Harry nods, letting his hands slide from Louis’ cheeks, down his neck until they rest against his chest. Harry drops his forehead to Louis’ shoulder, and Louis moves his hand to Harry’s curls, lightly trading his finger through them. “I know,” Harry whispers. “And I love you too. So much.”

They’re both quiet for a few moments, stuck in a position Louis can’t help but think must be extraordinarily uncomfortable for Harry due to their height difference.

Finally they pull apart, Harry giving Louis a small, unsure smile, and Louis smiling back in the most reassuringly way he possibly can think of.

“Better part ways,” Louis smiles, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s hand.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, I promise.”

  
**  
**

 

The rest of Louis’ day passes relatively uneventfully. He picks up some takeaway on his way home to his house, and settles into his couch, half-watching a rerun of Keeping up with the Kardashians while eating his early dinner. Afterwards, when he’s deposited the empty boxes in his bin and grown tired of watching Kim fighting with her mom, he pulls out his phone intent on checking twitter. The first thing he sees is the notification that Harry has tweeted something an hour ago, and he curiously pulls up Harry’s profile. He sees two tweets made within a couple of minutes of each other, and he can’t help but smile, because, really, Harry is such a loveable dork.

[(x)](http://i.imgur.com/ij3Vsy2.png)

[(x)](http://i.imgur.com/hgzM3qr.png)

Louis considers replying to the tweets, but ultimately decides against it. There’s nothing that directly ties him to what Harry’s written, so he figures he’ll let people speculate.

With only slight hesitation he goes to look at his mentions. Like always it’s a bit of mixed bunch of tweets, varying from asking him to follow them, have sex with them, quite a bit just thanking him for being who he is and expressing their excitement over the upcoming album, a fair few calling him a faggot, even more asking about Harry. He sees one of the more harmless inquiries, and figures he might as well, so he taps on the reply button. He types in an answer he knows is both too sappy and too honest all at once, but figures if they’re going to do this, they may as well go all out. It’s been a long time since he’s had to deliver this kind of fanservice, but he likes it so much better than what he had to go through when with Eleanor. At least this time he’s honest in his lies.

[(x)](http://i.imgur.com/bYfLd0x.png)

[(x)](http://i.imgur.com/t6nqIZx.png)

He smiles, satisfied as he sees the number of retweets and favourites rising. He flickers through his mentions again for a few minutes, seeing how it’s becoming more and more Larry-centred, and for a moment he considers pulling up Tumblr or something like it to see how people are reacting there. There seems to be an alarming number of people still very interested and invested in their relationship. Louis is surprised even though he’s not.

He’s startled out of his thoughts when his phone buzzes with another notification. It’s another tweet from Harry, this one directed at him. He pulls it up, reads it quickly, and once again can’t contain the smile that breaks out, huge and genuine. He feels like a bit of an idiot, sitting alone in his house, smiling like a loon, eyes surely crinkling like he’s been told is a tell-tale sign that his smile is sincere, while staring at his phone. If his heart beats just a little bit faster than normal, well, nobody is ever going to know.  

[(x)](http://i.imgur.com/Wr8eWnH.png)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave your thoughts? It would mean so, so much if you would take the time to comment!
> 
> I'm at tumblr at [infinitelymint](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com)  
> \- come say hi, please!! :)
> 
> See you next Friday! xxxx


	3. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so... Chapter two, voila.
> 
> As always, massive, massive thank you to [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com) for looking it through - this would all be a pile of errors without them! Thank you both so much!  
> And to [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com) for actually making me pick this up again, without you it would still be abandoned in my 'project'-folder.
> 
> Also a massive, MASSIVE thank you to all of you who read the beginning of the story, and especially to those of you who took the time to leave a comment. It means so, so much. I hope you like this too!
> 
> Oh, and there is a manip in here, I simply could not find the original poster of, so if you know who it is, please give me a shout. I'd like to give credit where credit is due! 
> 
> xxxx

_Hey, skal vi to ikke bare folde det her ud?_   
_Stå med åbne arme - stå med smil - stå for skud_  
 _Og ikke holde det nede og ikke pakke det ind_  
 _Ikke skærme det mod regn eller sne eller vind_

(Marie Key –”Uden Forsvar”)

**CHAPTER II:**

It's twelve o’clock the next day, when Louis finds himself knocking on Harry’s door. They haven’t actually chosen a time to meet, but Louis was bored at home, and figured that he might as well head over to Harry’s (that calling Harry and letting him know he was coming might have been a good idea only occurred to him now that he is standing on Harry’s threshold). He doesn’t have to wait long before he hears the tell-tale click signalling that Harry is unlocking the door on the other side and mere seconds later it opens, revealing a slightly disgruntled looking Harry. His curls are tucked under a black beanie, and he is wearing a pair of trackies and a long-sleeved, grey oversized shirt, which hangs loosely on his fit frame, hiding Harry’s toned torso – which, in all honesty, is probably in Louis’ best interest.

“Louis?” Harry’s surprised exclamation pulls Louis back to reality, and he refocuses his eyes on Harry’s face. For a second Louis is worried that Harry will be annoyed that he’s come unannounced, but that thought is quickly binned as he sees the pleased smile Harry’s lips are curling into, dimples deepening as it widens.

“You’re here early.”

Louis shrugs. “Sorry, mate, I was bored and had nothing to do, figured I might as well head over. Probably should have called though, eh?”

Harry shakes his head quickly. “No, no, Lou. You can come anytime you want, you never have to call, you know that. Come on in.”

Louis smiles at Harry’s words as the younger man opens the door wider and steps aside, allowing Louis entrance to his house.

“Management called this morning,” Harry says as they make their way to his living room. “Said they’d tried you, but couldn’t reach you. I tried calling as well, but it went straight to voicemail. I think they thought you were ignoring them again.”

“Hmm,” Louis says, as he stuffs his hands in his pocket, pulling out his phone. “I haven’t heard anything,” he continues as he pushes the homebutton on his iPhone, waiting for it to light up. “Ah,” he says as the black screen continues to glare at him, “must’ve run out of battery this morning, I didn’t even notice. What did they want?”

“Just to confirm the details about today. We’re supposed to enter Tescos at four o’clock, and then spend like 45 minutes shopping and then the pap will follow us some of the way home.”

“Right,” Louis nods, “well that gives us plenty of time, doesn’t it? What to do, young Harold?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know. You hungry? I was just about to make a sandwich, and then maybe we could play FIFA or something.”

Louis grins in response. “Sounds like a perfect day, babe. I’m starving, and you do make a mean turkey sandwich.”

“No pickles but extra mustard, right?” Harry questions over his shoulders, as they change course and walk into Harry’s spacious kitchen.

“You know me so well.” Louis says, his voice carrying a teasing edge that he is sure is making Harry roll his eyes, even though he can’t see it, as Harry’s back is to him.

“Better than anyone,” Harry banters back, and, really, if Louis is completely honest, that's probably very, very true.

“Don’t think you should say that to my mother, mate.”

Harry laughs, and looks over his shoulder at Louis, throwing him a cheeky wink.  “Jay and I have an understanding.”

“Is that so?” Louis questions, smiling.

“Mhm-hmm” Harry confirms, turning his attention back to his fridge, getting out the ingredients for their sandwiches.

“So,” Louis jumps onto Harry’s kitchen island, seating himself next to where Harry has started to prepare their meal, “ready for our supermarket-rendezvous?”

Spreading mayo on the bread, Harry looks up, smiling as he meets Louis’ eyes. “Yes,” he confirms, “I mean, it’s gonna be kinda strange, yeah? Like, with the pap and stuff, but, yeah, I mean, it’s you Lou, I’m always up for spending time with you.”

Eyes crinkling, Louis smiles back at him and snatches a piece of the cucumber Harry has just cut. “You’re such a sap,” he says, voice fonder than he’d like, but, really, who could blame him? Harry positively radiates sincerity, and when he goes around saying shit like that... yeah, it’s pretty hard for Louis not to be endeared. Also, Harry is his absolute best friend; he’s allowed to be a bit mushy.

Harry smiles again – which seems to be a constant occurrence when they're together, and, honestly, Louis is definitely not complaining – and swats at Louis’ hand when he makes to grab another slice of cucumber.

“Hey!” he says, as Louis manages to grab one anyway, but then he settles for shaking his head fondly when all Louis does is grin back at him, cucumber wedged between his teeth. “I’m not denying it, though,” Harry says then, momentarily confusing Louis until he clarifies, “that I’m a sap, I mean. Like, mate, my favourite movie is _Love Actually_ , and I cry every time I watch _Titanic_. Which is often. So, like, I’m a sap and I’m proud of it.”

“Proud sap?” Louis questions, grinning. “You’re practically a walking gay stereotype, babe.”

“Proud of that, too,” is what Harry returns, and, yeah, Louis knows that. Harry’s always been proud and unabashed about what and who he is. It’s probably one of the qualities that Louis has always admired the most about him. It’s the exact opposite of Louis, who ever since being thrown into the spotlight, has done everything in his power to weed out everything that screamed gay about him. He had been all for throwing around gay innuendo during interviews because that was _safe_ , that was a joke… Actually dealing with his sexuality on the other hand, yeah, not so safe.  He had changed himself and his mannerisms so drastically that for a period of time, he could barely even recognize himself.

It was funny how it had worked: as Louis had made a conscious effort to become less flamboyant, Harry had started acting more and more visibly camp. The irony of it is not lost on Louis.

“Hey,” Harry says, placing a hand on Louis thigh, having apparently abandoned their sandwiches. “I’m sorry, Lou, I didn’t mean to-“

“Oh,” Louis cuts him off, realizing how Harry must have interpreted his silence, “no, sorry, Haz. Got caught up in my thoughts.” He jumps off the counter, eyeing the finished sandwiches. “Those done?” He asks, nodding his head at the food. Without waiting for Harry’s reply he continues, “Great. Brilliant. I think I was promised FIFA? Let’s go, H.”

Harry seems frozen for a moment, looking at Louis with his brows furrowed, clearly debating whether or not he should let Louis off the hook, or whether he should press him to talk about it. He should let it go, Louis thinks. Yes, definitely let it go. Louis is not going there, not talking about it. Nope, no way, forget about it. Not going to happen, _no_.

“Go, go. Time’s a-ticking, babe. We gotta get going if you’re going to have any chance of scoring a goal before we have to go on our inspiring photoshoot. Chop chop.” He makes his way towards the living room, leaving Harry behind to carry their food.

“Oi!” He hears Harry from behind him in the kitchen, “What do you mean ‘if I’m going to have a chance of scoring a goal’, Tomlinson?” He asks as he appears in the living room, plopping down next to Louis on the sofa, placing both the food and two cans of beer on the small table in front of them (massive hands, Harry has. It’s mad, really. Unnatural. Louis has half a mind that Harry’s some sort of mutant alien hybrid, DNA mixed with some race that’s got humongous hands. It’s a solid theory, yeah?). “I’m ace at this game, you liar.”

“Unlike the real deal, though.” Louis grins, mentally sighing in relief that he got Harry to let it go. “Come on then, Styles. Show me what you’ve got.”

 

 

The next few hours pass in a blur of FIFA, food and excellent company. Louis ends up beating Harry three games to one, and Harry throws the controller to the floor groaning after the fourth game. Louis definitely doesn’t intend to let it go anytime soon.

“No more, Lou,” Harry moans, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the backrest of the sofa. “What time is it anyway, should I get ready yet?”

Fishing his phone from his pocket, Louis is reminded that it has run out of battery, and instead he reaches across the sofa and pulls Harry’s phone out of his pocket. Harry jumps comically at the initial contact, but settles back into the sofa once he’s realised Louis’ motives.

Louis checks the screen of Harry’s phone. “Just about three,” he says, as an idea pops into his mind. Smiling mischievously, he places the phone on the coffee table in front of the sofa, and hurries to straddle Harry’s lap before the younger boy can get up.

Shocked at Louis’ sudden movement, and the fact that he’s suddenly sitting in his lap, Harry’s eyes spring open, and he opens his mouth, question surely on the tip of his tongue.

“Better give them something to talk about, eh?” Louis grin is wicked when he clarifies for him.

“What?” Harry asks, confusion clearly etched into his features. Louis winks in answer, and leans down, quickly placing his lips against Harry’s neck and sucking.

Harry instantly goes completely still, and, really, that’s a bit ridiculous. It’s hardly the first time Louis has sucked a love bite into his neck. It used to be fairly regular practice back in the beginning of One Direction, especially towards Liam, because he’d get so god damn worried about what Danielle would think, fidgeting and trying to get away. Harry had always taken it in a stride, never much bothered by it. Then again Harry also walked around wearing a gold thong, or even naked, so, like, it’s no surprise that a little neck-sucking between mates was a no big deal for him.

This time, though, he’s not squirming or laughing like he used to, but rather absolutely frozen in place, limbs not moving an inch and seemingly barely breathing. Louis absolutely cannot afford to overthink it, so he just continues working on the mark on Harry’s, trying to keep it as platonic as possible. A platonic love bite, now there’s a ridiculous idea, _Jesus_.

When he’s satisfied by his work, he pulls back, viewing the slightly red mark on Harry’s skin, knowing that it will have turned a nice dark colour within the next five or so minutes. “There,” he says, grinning as he gets off Harry’s lap. “Let them all analyse that on Tumblr.”

Harry is silent for several moments, still frozen in the position he’d been in before Louis practically assaulted him. Louis’ grin is growing increasingly fake and uncomfortable, and he is seriously starting to second guess what the fuck he was even thinking (he wasn’t really thinking, actually, which, yeah, honestly is probably the actual problem), when Harry finally clears his throat and straightens slightly in the sofa.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat again, “right, yeah. Um…“ And then, thank goodness, Harry lets out a laugh, seeming slightly surprised by the sound himself. It doesn’t take long for Louis to join in, and just like that the awkward air is cleared. Their relationship is such a strange thing sometimes. Brilliant, but strange. Louis occasionally thinks it’s the kind of thing that ought to be studied or something. Like in a lab. By actual scientist.

“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” Harry questions, the last peals of laughter having left his mouth. His grin is wide and earnest, the mark on his neck darkening. 

“You complaining?” Louis asks with a grin, sitting down on the sofa table in front of Harry.

“Well,” Harry replies, eyes twinkling and dimples deep, “you’re a bit of a cock tease, leaving me just with that. Not sure how I feel about months like that, Lou.”

Letting out a surprised laugh, Louis shakes his head. “Fucking hell, Styles, you twat. Go get ready. We’ve got pictures to take, stores to shop in and all that jazz.”

“Speaking of pictures,” Harry grins, taking a hold of Louis’ wrists and pulling him towards himself on the sofa. “Let’s take one, yeah?”

“What?” Louis laughs, having landed clumsily and awkwardly on the sofa next to Harry, squeezed almost uncomfortably close to him.

“Selfie-time!” Harry exclaims enthusiastically as he reaches around Louis to grab the phone from where Louis has put it down. “Now that I’m allowed to again, I’m gonna tweet about you so much people are going to get sick of it.”

“Haz, c’mon,” Louis laughs, tugging at his beanie self-consciously, which only makes Harry shake his head.

“Stop that, Lou. You look amazing.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s do this then, might as well go all out.”

Harry’s answer is a grin, before he moves behind Louis, handing him the phone. “Here, I think you have a better angle.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis concludes, tone fond and exasperated all at once, but nonetheless he stretches out his arm, smiles and snaps a photo of the two of them. Without looking at the result, he hands the phone to Harry, who sets about getting it posted, his tongue peeking out between his lips in concentration.

“Done!” He claims with a smile a few moments later, finally stopping typing on his phone.

“Lemme see!” Louis demands, holding out his hand for Harry’s phone.

“I’m just gonna get ready to go, yeah?” Harry says, as he hands Louis his phone. “Don’t tweet anything rude from my account while I’m gone, Lou. Everyone knows you’re with me, they’ll know you did it anyway.”

Louis rolls his eyes as Harry makes his way out of the room, the thought having honestly not even crossed his mind. He has to admit, though, it’s not really a surprise that Harry would expect it of him. Turning his attention back to Harry’s phone, he pulls up his most recent tweet.

[ ](http://imgur.com/IRkV9ek)

[ ](http://imgur.com/QJ8wqcu)

The picture and the tweet are both perfectly innocent, but Louis knows it’ll send their fans into a frenzy. Or at least it would have two years ago. He realizes suddenly that he has no idea what the state of the Larry part of their fandom is. Surely it must have been difficult believing they were in a relationship once their hiatus had commenced, and it became clear that they went months without properly seeing each other. It must only be the actual shippers – those who merely enjoyed the fictional idea of them together, but who didn’t actually put all that much stock in the truth of it – and the most hardcore believers left. Louis hopes those few would be enough to drum up attention, hopes that their appearances will be enough to pull people back in, hopes that it isn’t too obvious that it is all a PR-stunt. If they are really going to do it, mind you. Fuck, Louis is already thinking about it as a certainty.

A small part of Louis feels like he ought to feel bad about how they are going to attempt to fool pretty much the entire world, but he’s been in the industry long enough, gone through more than enough with Eleanor, to know how the PR-machine works, and it won’t really matter much how he feels about it anyway. ‘Don’t hate the player, hate the game’ has never been more applicable than now.

Mostly he is just disappointed that their music isn’t enough, that they have to resort to such dirty tactics, have to rely on publicity stunts to sell their record, but such is the way of Modest! and, honestly, that’s the way it has always been.   

Louis is pulled from his downright depressing thoughts by Harry who arrives back in the room, looking exactly as he did when he left, except for having exchanged his comfortable trackies with his trademark tight black jeans.

“Ready to go?” Harry grins, holding his hand out for his phone, and checking the time when he receives it, before stuffing it back in his pocket. “I think we’ll make it just in time if we leave now.”

“Sure,” Louis agrees, getting up from the sofa and making his way towards Harry. “I’ll just check how I look, and then I’ll be back.” He reaches him, and smiles wryly at him when he makes to pass him, only to be stopped when Harry grabs his wrist, spinning him around to face him.

“No need.” Harry says, smoothing his palm over Louis’ shoulders. “You look gorgeous, love.” 

“Thanks,” Louis says, and bites his lip in an attempt not to break out into a massive, pleased smile. The thing is, Harry would probably say that even if Louis looked like absolute shit, but on the other hand the younger man is nothing if not sincere, and Louis chooses to trust that he isn’t going to let him go and get papped looking like someone who would end up on a worst-dressed list in some trashy magazine.

“Let’s go then, yeah?”

Nodding Harry places his hand on Louis’ lower back and steers him towards the front door. “Should we, like, hold hands or something?” Harry questions as they make their way down his driveway. “Or like, touch? I don’t know, how are we supposed to do this?”

“I think we should probably just act like we’ve always done, Haz. That used to make them think we were dating, anyway. And like, holding hands is probably pretty much confirming that we’re in a relationship, right? So we should probably steer clear of that until we’ve decided if we’re really doing this.”

Harry nods in agreement. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. You’re right,” he says, before taking a deep breath and continuing: “Lou?” He stops abruptly and reaches out for Louis’ wrist to stop him too. When Louis has stilled and turned his attention to him, he continues, voice small and tentative, but so, so sincere. “I’m really glad it’s you I’m doing this with this time.”

Louis smile softens, because, fuck, Harry is only twenty-two years old and he’s already been through a shitload of fake public romances, his name practically synonymous with publicity stunts for most of the general public. He’s never gotten to have a proper genuine relationship, never gotten to really fall in love, and that’s just so, so unfair, because if there is one person in the world who deserves to find love and live happily ever after, it’s Harry Styles. He’s been through far more than anyone ought to have to go through, especially at his age.

Louis twist his wrist out of Harry’s grip gently, and intertwines their fingers, squeezing once before letting go. “Me too, Haz.”

They spend the next twenty minutes walking to the shop chatting about the upcoming album and tour, and Louis is decidedly not nervous about what’s awaiting them when they get to Tesco. He’s not. He’s a fucking professional popstar, paps and publicity stunts are like rainy days in England to him – common and to be expected. He’s not nervous, he’s _not_.

“Ready?” Harry mutters quietly as they spot the store further down the road. There’s a man leaning against a black car in front of it, the big camera around his neck giving away his profession.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, as the man notices them and quickly aims his camera at the two of them. Louis ignores him, focusing on Harry. If there’s one thing he’s learned from his outing with Eleanor, it is that looking straight at the camera only confirms that you knew it would be there, and therefore that it was orchestrated.

“You?” He keeps his tone light, his smile genuine, all too aware of the man snapping photos of them.

Harry’s answering smile is blinding… and not entirely genuine, but Louis knows that’s more to do with the situation than Louis. “Yeah,” Harry says, and instantly relaxes, smile going from manic to soft and fond, when Louis places his hand gently on his elbow. Louis smiles back at him, and for a moment he can forget all about paps and publicity stunts and fooling the public. For a moment it’s just the two of them. Just Harry and Louis.

It’s a nice moment.

Then he releases Harry’s elbow, and it’s back to business.

They reach Tesco, nodding in acknowledgement at the pap, who nods back at them with a small smile that seems genuine. At least he doesn’t seem like an arse, so there’s always that. Harry places his hand on the small of Louis’ back and guides him into the store, and Louis thinks he can hear the tell-tale sound of a camera shutter going off.

So he caught that moment, lovely.

“Is he going to come in?” Louis questions as they make their way down the first aisle, Harry having already picked up a basket.

“I don’t think so. PR felt it would be too obvious, you know, that it was staged, but he’ll probably snap some photos from the outside. Possibly a video, I’m not sure.”

Louis nods. “Okay. Great. Well, we’ve got 45 minutes to spend, Harold. God, that’s a long time to spend in Tesco.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry grins. “We have to shop for dinner, and then knowing you, we’ll have to walk around a second time, putting back all the stupid stuff you’ve added to the basket, so I think we’ll manage.”

“Heeeeeey,” Louis whines in protest, though, well, Harry does have a point – that was usually how it went down whenever they went shopping together back when they still lived with each other. “What are you making anyway?”

Harry looks slightly bashful at Louis’ inquiry, and turns to examine a lettuce head instead of meeting his eyes when he answers: “Thought I’d make fajitas, you know, like old times. But, I don’t know, would you rather have something else? I could make something more fancy – maybe a steak or some salmon-“

“Love,” Louis interrupts him, smiling. He places his hand on Harry’s bicep and waits for him to turn to face Louis. “Fajitas sound amazing. You could literally make me cheese toasties and I’d be impressed. And I’ve missed your fajitas maybe even more than I missed your fry-ups, to be honest.”

“Yeah?” Harry questions, positively beaming with pride.

“Yeah.” Louis confirms, his own smile wide. “Now, what do we need?”

“I’ve got the list right here,” Harry says as he pulls out a folded piece of paper from his impossibly tight trousers. “Do you want chicken or beef?”

“Uumm,” Louis laughs, “both?”

Harry’s answer is a large grin. “Both it is, then. Could you grab two peppers? Just a red and a green one. I’ll pick us out some avocados for the guacamole.”

“Ay, sir.” Louis says, doing a stupid salute with his hand, before making his way to the peppers, carefully picking out two that look alright – big and shiny, with no visible blemishes. When he looks up after having put the two in a plastic bag, he’s met with the sight of Harry watching him with a soft, fond expression, avocados already in the basket, along with a punnet of cherry tomatoes, red onions and some limes. “What?” Louis asks, self-conscious suddenly.

“Nothing,” Harry says, shaking his head as if to rid himself of his thoughts, before making his way to Louis, holding out the basket for him to place the peppers in. “Sorry, you just looked so cute being all focused on picking out two perfect peppers.” He nudges his shoulder against Louis’ playfully, as they make their way further into the store.

“I’m not cute.” Louis grunts, mock-offended, “I’m rugged and manly, Harold.”

“Sure,” Harry laughs, “whatever you say.”

Louis wants to argue further, but instead he just grabs the nearest item off the shelf next to him (tinned peaches, which, well, disappointing), and places them in Harry’s basket, daring him to protest. All Harry does in return is to smile widely, clearly not all that perturbed by Louis’ addition.

“For pudding? How delicious, Lou!”

Louis mock-scowls in return, half wishing he could have grabbed something worse like a bottle of whipped cream or whatever. Though, knowing Harry, that would merely have inspired a quip about it being a bit early in their relationship for that kind of thing, considering they weren’t actually dating yet.

“You’re a twat.” He ends up informing him, and, yeah, not exactly Louis’ best comeback, but, well, it is what it is.

 

 

The next 30 minutes pass in a blur of foodstuffs and banter and Harry’s ridiculous shopping list, which contains items such as _cheddar like actual cheddar like a block not grated that’s gross_ and _wine a good wine not Italian it gives Lou a headache_ (which is true, of course, and Louis really shouldn’t be surprised that Harry remembered, but he is) and _TOILET PAPER!!!!!!!!!!!!._ Louis knows this because he stole the list halfway through their shopping, and tried to make Harry do the rest of his purchases from memory, while hestuffed the basket with things that were decidedly not a part of the list.

It’s the most fun Louis has had shopping for years.

Harry too, if his wide grin and the deep dimples in his cheeks are any indication.

By the time they make it to the till, Harry has only put back one or two of the most outrageous things Louis put in the basket, allowing the rest of it to join his intended purchases on the conveyer belt. Louis tries not to feel immensely satisfied when Harry places the tinned peaches on the belt with a fond smile.

Louis fails.

When the last item has been scanned, Louis reaches for his wallet and steps forward to pay, only to have his way cut off by Harry, who steps in front of him, blocking his access completely.

“No way, Lou,” Harry grins over his shoulder, “you paid yesterday, and I’ll pay today. That was our deal.”

Louis huffs in mock-indignation, though really it doesn’t make a shit of a difference to him, they’re both multimillionaires, after all.

“Fine.” He settles for saying, before stepping closer to Harry and lifting himself to his tiptoes, and hooking his chin on Harry’s shoulder, watching as he converses with the sales person while he pays. His hands rest comfortably against Harry’s hips and Harry leans back into him, and turns his head slightly to rub his cheek gently against his, like the absolute kitten that he is. 

Louis squeezes his hips gently, before taking a step back and going to pick up their purchases. Putting his wallet back in his back-pocket, Harry joins him a few moments later. When they’ve placed the last items in their bags, they nod their goodbyes to the middle-aged lady who’d put through their items, and Louis can’t help but notice how she’s looking at them with a fond smile, eyes knowing. It makes Louis more uncomfortable than he is willing to admit.

They make their way out of the shop, ignoring the pap like only five years in the spotlight could have taught them, and manage to get back to Harry’s house without being stopped by any fans. Louis counts it as a success.

Upon entering the house, it hits Louis that the public, scheduled part of their day is over, and that the rest of the night is all for them. He’s surprised to note that he barely spared the pap a thought, or the fact that what they were doing, was essentially a publicity stunt. It didn’t feel like it at all. The stark contrast to how it had been with Eleanor, and how it was with Harry, was mad.

They place their multiple shopping bags on the kitchen island, and Harry turns to Louis with a wicked smile. “So,” he says, as he starts pulling out their purchases and placing them around the kitchen. A pile on the sideboard for what they’ll use now, the fridge or freezer for what needs to be kept cool or frozen, and the cupboards for the random bits and pieces he’d just been missing. “Is it safe to assume that your cooking skills haven’t improved since I last cooked you dinner?”

Louis huffs, mock-offended. “Whatever are you insinuating, Harold? That I can’t cook? Wow, hit me where it hurts, why don’t you?”

Harry laughs, and nudges Louis’ shoulder gently with his own. “Alright then,” he says, as he holds the two peppers towards him, his massive hand easily big enough to hold them both, “slice these, then, yeah?”

Louis looks at the peppers he’d so carefully selected, and then up at Harry again. Cocking an eyebrow, he reaches out to take the peppers from him – one in each hand, because, damn it, not everybody can have massive mutant-alien hands, and his hands are perfectly adequate and of average size, thank you very much.

Now, truth be told, Louis’ cooking skills definitely haven’t improved much beyond being able to scramble an egg or two, but there’s no point telling Harry that, he thinks. He’s pretty sure even he can manage to slice some peppers.

“Contemplating life, are we?” Harry asks suddenly, notifying Louis of the fact that he must have stood with the peppers longer than he thought.

“What?”

“You’re staring at them like they’re the skull to your Hamlet, love. All you need to do is slice them, it’s not that hard. I promise.” Harry hands him a chopping board and a knife, his face dominated by a silly, amused smile. Louis, on the other hand, is not amused, but if it is Shakespeare Harry wants, it’s Shakespeare he’ll get.  Ish.

“To be or not to be!” Louis exclaims, holding on of the peppers out in front of him. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate, Romeo – oh, Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? That is the question.”

He is interrupted in his Shakespearean medley-soliloquy by a loud snort coming from Harry. He turns his attention towards the younger boy, who is the very picture of mirth – eyes big and bright, cheeks dimpling and smile wide. Louis cocks an eyebrow at him, trying to remain aloof.

“How dare you interrupt, you peasant?” He questions in a mock-haughtily voice.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Lou,” Harry says, completely unfazed by Louis’ theatrics. It’s a testament to the years they’ve known each other, and the vast amount of time they’ve spent together that nothing Louis does can surprise Harry anymore. Harry is probably considered pretty much immune due to continuous exposure. Louis isn’t sure he likes it, misses how he used to affect him sometimes. “But I don’t think that’s quite how it goes. Was it really drama you used to want to study? You would probably need to brush up on your Shakespeare, babe.”

“Ha ha ha, Haz.” Louis replies drily – brilliant comeback that, he ought to get a medal. Or something. “You’re hilarious. You just wait, I don’t need Shakespeare, I will slice you the nicest slices of pepper you have ever seen. And you will be impressed, mark my words. You will want to rename the dish after me. Fajitas-à-la-Louis… Lou-hitas… I don’t know, we’ll work on it.”

Harry laughs in the unique Harry-way that despite everything, and much to Louis’ joy, he still seems to be the only one who can bring forth. It’s a brilliant laugh – loud and unashamed, and it’s maybe (probably) Louis’ favourite sound in the world. And, really, even if Harry isn’t affected by Louis like he once was – even if he isn’t hit by the same awe and almost hero-like adoration, he’ll still always have this, this laugh that is just for him. And-- well, all things considered, that’s okay too.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Louis feels his competitive side awaken, which is so absolutely ridiculous, because they are talking about slicing peppers, for Christ sakes, but it’s him and Harry in a nutshell, and it’s _fun_. Fuck—it’s silly and stupid, but it’s fun, and, really, it hits Louis that he never has as much fun with anyone as he does when he’s with Harry. His life may not always have been a bed of roses after he chose to attend the X Factor, but it’s the absolute best decision of his life, because without it he wouldn’t have met Harry. And, of course, the fame and the money and the doing what he loves every day – and the rest of the boys – it’s great, really great. But Harry, Harry’s the true prize.

It’s with a smile on his face that he grabs a chopping board and a knife, and sets to fixing the peppers. Next to him Harry has turned on the radio, humming softly along to Ed’s newest single while grinding spices in his mortar. It feels normal and natural and so, so _easy_. Louis loves it.

Putting all thoughts of Harry and their joint domesticity in the back of his head, Louis turns his attention to the peppers in front of him. He goes slow, opening them like he’s seen Harry do before, carefully making sure there aren’t any seeds getting mixed with the actual peppers, and taking his time cutting them, attempting to get even, appealing slices.

He does a pretty decent job, if he has to say so himself. He’s fairly sure Harry could have done both a better and a faster job of it, but he’s not really going to dwell on that.

Cutting the last piece of pepper in two, he looks up startled when he hears the sound of a camera shutter go off, only to find Harry standing with a small smile, his phone pointed towards him.

“What’s that for?” He questions, placing the knife on the board and moving to wipe his hands on the tea towel hanging on the wall.

“You just looked cute. You know, with your tongue peeking out, ridiculously concentrated on slicing some pepper.”

“You going to tweet it?”

“Nope.” Harry shakes his head, popping the p. “This one’s just for me. Finished?” He nods at the peppers, eyes alight and amused.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. All for you, love, the nicest slices of pepper you’ll ever see.”

Harry grins at him in reply, and moves closer to the peppers to inspect them. Louis moves nearer too, curious to see how he will react. Harry takes one and pops it in his mouth, before leaning against Louis, resting his hand on the small of his back. “It’s great, babe. I’m impressed. You’re a star. Lou-hitas was it?” He’s clearly teasing, and Louis nudges his shoulders slightly.

“No need to be a dick, Haz.”

Harry laughs, clear and bright. “Sorry, Lou. I’m serious, it’s great, yeah? Toss half in each pan and stir it around, will you? I’ll make the guacamole.”

Nodding, Louis grabs the chopping board and moves to the stove where two pans – one chicken and one beef are sizzling, filling the room with the delicious smell of spices, reminding him that it’s been a while since he last ate. He distributes half of the peppers in each pan, and stirs them carefully, determined not to botch this. He likes cooking with Harry, he finds. It was never something they did an awful lot even when they lived together, if only for the sole reason that Louis was an absolute disaster in a kitchen. But he likes it, and he would quite like for it to be a regular occurrence, which it probably won’t be if he botches their dinner.

When the peppers are thoroughly coated in marinade and sizzling along with the meat, and he’s fairly confident that it won’t burn, he is struck by a sudden idea. He moves towards Harry, and sneaks his hand into his pant pocket. He jumps a bit in shock and lets out a small shriek.

Unable to help laughing at his reaction, Louis pulls Harry’s phone from his pocket. “I’m just borrowing this, love.”

Harry hums in acknowledgement. “Just don’t tweet rude stuff from my account, Lou.”

“You know, Harold, I really think we may need to have a conversation about the astounding lack of trust there is in this relationship. Also, I’d have you know, I would _never_.”

“Oh, we _both_ know that’s not true.”

“Hmm,” Louis grunts, “fine, then. But I won’t.”

“Okay.” Harry agrees, turning back to his avocados with a smile, and, well, maybe the whole trust thing in the relationship isn’t all that bad, all things considered. Even if it isn’t technically a relationship. Unless you count a friendship, in which case it very much is, and—why is Louis even contemplating this, Jesus.

Louis turns back to the stove too, this time armed with Harry’s phone. He stirs the two pans quickly, making sure that nothing has burned in his absence. Luckily both still look delicious. He turns his attention to Harry’s phone still clutched in his hand, sending a mental reminder to himself that he needs to charge his, and opens Harry’s twitter app. He makes quick work of logging Harry off and himself on, thankful that one of the clauses of his new contract granted him the full control of his twitter back.

He’d signed it away back when the stunt with Eleanor and the separation from Harry had really started, not wanting to keep tweeting loved up lies, thinking it easier if he just left it up to PR and management. It had escalated, however, to heights that Louis had never dreamed of, and soon it seemed that twitter-Louis was like the alter ego of who Louis himself was. It had been both awful and frustrating, and he was very, very happy that time was behind him.

Snapping a photo of one of the pans, he quickly attaches it to a tweet, writes something vague and posts it with a smile.

[ ](http://imgur.com/N0ltrs2)

[ ](http://imgur.com/0aqVKiY)

It’s pretty clever, if he has to say so himself. The tweet is perfectly innocent, while simultaneously confirming that he’s with Harry, and that they are doing something as domestic as cooking together, after having gone to the supermarket just the two of them. They’re practically an old married couple.  

And Louis knows the shippers used to love it when they were “domestic”. Back then they were constantly told off, by management and PR, for appearing too in tune with each other, for knowing what the other needed before it was ever said, for the ease with which they interacted, like it was something they could change, like it wasn’t natural. If there are any shippers left, Louis figures they’ll love this.

He logs off twitter again and lays Harry’s phone on the kitchen counter, before stirring the meat once more, making sure that nothing has burned while he was tweeting. Harry comes up behind him, looking at the two pans over his shoulder.

“It looks great, Louis.” He says, as he reaches around himto turn the temperature of the hob down a bit. “Would you lay the table and maybe open a bottle of wine? Or beer? Or whatever you want. I’ll finish the rest.”

Louis nods in assent, moving around Harry to get the plates – luckily Harry hasn’t changed the placement of his dinnerware since the last time Louis visited, so he’s saved from the embarrassment of opening a cupboard, and being met by a blender or something ridiculous like that.

It’s difficult to say how – maybe Harry really is a wizard – but in the time it takes Louis to set the table, pick a wine from Harry’s – admittedly – large selection, and return to the kitchen, Harry has managed to finish the fajitas, and seems to have something in the oven as well.

“What’s that?” Louis asks, inclining his head towards it.

Harry grins and holds up the – now empty – tin of peaches he’s holding in his hand, before dumping it in the rubbish bin.

“Peach crumble.”

“What?” Louis blurts, before barking out a surprised laugh. “You’ve made peach crumble? Jesus, Haz, are you like secretly a house elf or something?”

Furrowing his brows, it clearly takes Harry a moment to understand the reference, before breaking into an even wider smile and shaking his head.

“No, all human, Lou. Ready to eat?”

Louis nods his confirmation and goes to help him carry the food into the dining room. Once everything is placed on the table, and they have sat down, Louis is overwhelmed by what they’ve managed to produce. It’s just fajitas, but it looks and smells fantastic, with plenty of guacamole and salsa, and—fuck, Louis is positively starving.

“This looks bloody brilliant. Seriously, I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed your fajitas, but right now I’m not sure how I survived this long without them!”

Harry’s only answer is to blush – which, fucking adorable – and indicate for Louis to tuck into the food. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

And it’s just as delicious as it smells, every bit as good as he remembers – if not, in fact, better. It’s an explosion of taste and texture in Louis’ mouth, and he doesn’t understand how Harry can be so good at so many things. If not for his abysmal football skills, Louis would think him absolutely perfect. And even the fact that he’s so absolutely terrible at playing football is okay, because he never turns down a game, is always so enthusiastic in his love for the game and for playing, is never deterred by the fact that he is awful. He takes on every task and every challenge with the same eagerness, the same unwavering optimism. He’s the very embodiment of just playing to have fun.  

Louis thinks, not for the first time, that the world would be a much better place, if more people were like Harry Styles.

“I was thinking,” Harry says after they’ve both had a few mouthfuls, “that maybe we should talk about what we’re going to tell the public—if we end up doing this it, I mean. Or maybe we should talk about whether we are doing it? I mean, I—I don’t know. I kind of feel like it’s up to you, you know… Maybe?”

Louis pushes the food on his place around with his fork while he contemplates Harry’s questions. Finally he looks up at the younger boy, who seems to have been observing Louis in his silence, bottom lip between his teeth, seeming almost worried and nervous.

“It kind of feels like we already are, doesn’t it?”

Harry furrows his brow in response. “I don’t know, Lou, I mean—we could still say no. We haven’t done anything that solidifies that we’re more than friends. We’ve always meant for our public image to go back to a friend status, so it could really just be a stepping stone to that, if you’d rather have that. I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“And what about you? What about what you want, what you’re comfortable with?”

“We’ve talked about this already, Lou. I just want to be out. I just want to be who I am, to stop lying. I want to spend time with you, I want to have fun with the lads, and I want to show the world who the real Harry Styles is.”

“You won’t—“ Louis starts, before clearing his throat and piercing a piece of chicken with his fork for something to do with his hands, no real intent of actually eating it. “You won’t be able to be proper out, H. Like, you’ll still be pretending, you’ll still be lying. You won’t be able to date or be with who you want to be with. It will still be a charade.”

“Louis,” Harry breathes after a moment of silence. He looks conflicted, like he’s fighting an internal battle on what to say. “It’s not about that, Louis. I… It’s not about getting to date a man, or about turning my womanizer image into someone who shags blokes left and right… It’s about getting to be honest about who I am. About one of the most integral parts of me. I don’t—Lou, you have to stop thinking of pretending to be in a relationship with you as some sort of punishment for me. I would literally love nothing more than to be your pretend-boyfriend. I mean, Louis, you have this idea of me being this fearless person, who just wants to be out and free, and I _do_ , but I’m also so fucking terrified.”

His eyes are wide and earnest, and Louis is struck by how very, very young he still is, is overpowered by the need to cuddle him up, protect him from the evils of the world. He reaches over the table and takes his hand, tangling their fingers together and holding on tight. Harry squeezes back gratefully.

“I’m so scared, Lou. What if nobody will like me after this? What if they all feel like I’ve lied to them, like I’ve betrayed them… because they’d be right to. I _have_ lied to everybody, and I—I would like nothing more than having you by my side through it.”

“I’d be there anyways, Harry. There’s literally no scenario where you coming out could happen without you having my support one hundred and ten percent. I’m always here, Haz. I promise. You _know_ that.”

“Yeah – I know.” Harry whispers, keeping his eyes on his plate.

 “And, love, if this could help the band – shit, even if it just helps you, _of course_ I’d want to do it. And, I’m not gonna lie, I’m terrified too, I’ve always avoided thinking about coming out, because I _know_ how people are going to react, and it’s not exactly something I look particularly forward to going through, but… I should, I mean, I should stop lying about who I am, I should face up to it, be proud of it, and – fuck, I _am_ proud, but coming out is still not a particularly appealing thing, but… well, coming out with you by my side would probably be a _lot_ better than coming out alone. And I had fun today, H, like, probably more fun than I’ve had in ages. I’ve _missed_ you.” And they’ve already had this conversation, Louis has already expressed how much he’s missed Harry, it’s nothing _new_. But still, it’s like they need to go over it all one more time.

Harry looks up at him through his lashes, a small smile playing on his lips. “I missed you too. Like, you’ve been right here all along, and yet it sort of feels like you haven’t been, you know? Because I couldn’t act like I wanted to around you, I had to constantly question my actions when interacting with you. It was like we were always hiding, even when we were just together in private, like being who we are, having the friendship we have, was something to be ashamed of. Getting to just act naturally with you today… Lou, that was-“

“Amazing.”

“Yeah.” Harry breathes, agreeing. He’s quiet for a moment more, before squeezing Louis’ hand and untangling their fingers. He picks up his fork and shovels a bite of fajita into his mouth. Louis copies him, dipping the piece of chicken he speared what feels like ages ago in guacamole before eating it. It’s cold, but delicious nonetheless.

“I was thinking that, like, it’d be a good idea if we worked out the backstory ourselves, something we think is believable and we’re comfortable with, so that we won’t be forced into anything management has cooked up when we talk to them?”

Louis contemplates Harry’s words briefly, before nodding. “Yeah, I think I’d much prefer to make our own version of the events, than have them invent something they feel will have the biggest dramatic effect. I just… Do you really think it’ll work, Haz?”

It takes Harry a few moments to answer, and then: “I don’t know. But, well, they’re the experts, right? And we’re trying to appeal to an older crowd, and wasn’t that always mainly the people who thought we were together? So, like… I don’t know. We can check twitter and Tumblr and see what they’re saying when we’re done eating, word is bound to have spread about our excursion by now, don’t you think?”

Louis nods in agreement. “Yeah, I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if a fan or two spotted us somewhere between your house and Tesco - or even in Tesco. Did you notice anyone staring in the shop?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry shrugs. “I mean, I didn’t really pay attention? You took up most of it.”

“As it should be.” Louis grins, pleased by Harry’s bashful tone and the slight colouring of his cheeks. Teasing and getting Harry flustered has always been a favourite pastime of Louis. There’s nothing better than seeing the effect he can have on the cool and collected Harry Styles, because he is the only one who has that kind of power. Harry is always in control, charming and flirty, never thrown off his game, except for when it’s Louis. And it’s mutual, Harry has the ability to fluster Louis like no other, he has just always been better at hiding it, a better actor. And thank God for that.

Louis doesn’t know why it’s always been like that between them, thinks maybe it’s because they know each other as well as they do. They know exactly which buttons to push on each other.

“As it should be.” Harry agrees with dimpling cheeks, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Anyway,” Louis says, before taking another bite of the food, thinking while he chews. “We should maybe start with when? Like, when did we get together?”     

“Yeah… I-- well, sometime during our hiatus, right? That’ll be least damning, right? We haven’t commented on our relationship status during the last two years, like it’s all just been tabloid speculation, right? So they won’t actually have solid ground for calling us liars.”

“Well, that makes good sense. But we still have the issue of how much time we’ve clearly spent apart these last two years. And, also, when during our hiatus? And how did we go from friends to more? I think the more we know about our supposed relationship, the more convincing we can be. And the less likely we are to be caught in a lie, like Eleanor and I constantly were.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, “that’s what I was thinking as well. And, I’m thinking we’d probably want to be together for a bit before revealing it to the public, right? Like, we’d want to be sure this was really what we wanted, and also have time to build a solid relationship in peace and private… So, like maybe a year, a year and a half? Does that seem unreasonable?”

“No, that sound good, I think. Like we’d have gotten together six months into our hiatus, and we’d have been together for, what, six months when you left for America with Ed.”

“Exactly, and I was only with him two months, and I visited London several times. We could easily say you flew out to see me in America as well, like, clearly it would have had to be done in secret since we were hiding it, so it makes sense that there’d be no evidence of it, you know?”

“Makes sense,” Louis acknowledges, before bursting into laughter. “Fuck, H, this is ridiculous. We’re seriously sitting here making up this story using logic and logistics and shit, it’s like we’re plotting a damn fanfiction!”

Harry grins in answer. “It’s kind of fun, though, right?”

Louis feels his features soften as he looks at Harry, before nodding at the younger boy. “Yeah, it’s fun. And important, let’s not forget important, young Harold. It’s vital to our further survival in this gruesome world.”

“Shut up, you twat!” Harry grins while he kicks Louis’ shins under the table.

“Ow!” Louis exclaims dramatically, clutching his leg under the table. It didn’t actually hurt at all, Harry is always so fucking gentle, couldn’t hurt a fucking fly. “My leg! My leg! That domestic violence, Harold! I want out, I want out of this relationship, I wan—“

He’s cut off by Harry’s giggles, fucking giggles, because Harry Styles is actually only five years old. That’s a confirmed fact, yes please and thank you. Louis doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with him, really. Jesus.

“Seriously, Lou,” Harry says, once his giggles have stopped, and Louis adopts a serious attitude again – he’s gotten a lot better at that within the last few years. “We got together six months into the hiatus… _Why?_ Like, why did we suddenly go from friends to lovers?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ve always been close, yeah? Uumm…” Harry runs a hand through his hair and looks away, not meeting Louis’ eyes. He drops both hands to the table, and starts to fiddle with his paper napkin, pulling it to pieces that he collects in a small pile next to his plate. Louis waits patiently for him to continue – another thing he’s gotten better at: patience.

“I think, maybe it’d be most believable if we didn’t just both develop feelings for each other out of the blue, at the same time nonetheless…”

“Well, yeah, I see that, but what’s the alternative?”

“Well, maybe we should say that I’ve always been a bit in love with you, like, but never thought I could have you. I don’t think people will find it all that hard to believe with how much they used to go on about my heart-eyes and fond looks.”

Something twists inside Louis, because… well, he doesn’t even know why, Jesus. It’s just, the thought of Harry having been in love with him for years is so foreign, so impossible to imagine. Louis knows how they look at each other, knows how people interpret it, and he would be a liar if he said he’d never entertained the thought of him and Harry as a couple. When so many people believe you to be something, you definitely entertain the idea – it can’t be helped. But it had always been a fleeting thought, too abstract to take seriously, because Harry is his best friend, he loves Harry more than anything, and there is literally nothing he’d do to risk their friendship.

“And, then maybe we should say that we didn’t get to see each other very much during the first six months of our hiatus, and we just really, really missed each other, yeah?”

“That’s not even a lie, Haz.” Louis interrupted, smiling gently.

“No, it’s not. But isn’t there something to say about sticking as close to the truth as possible? And, anyway, there was that dinner thing like five months into the hiatus, right? And there are pap shots of all five of us, so people know we were both there, and we can maybe say that we stayed together when the other lads left and I don’t know… Maybe one thing just led to another from then on, yeah?”

Louis nods, impressed by how much thought Harry seemed to have given their entire situation. “Yeah, that… that sounds plausible, yeah. And we just didn’t want to hide our relationship anymore with the tour coming up, like with all the paps and the fans around it’d be a nightmare, so that’s why we chose now to come out, right?”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty good reason. Like, I mean, I don’t think we’ll be able to avoid some people pointing out how the timing coincides with so many major One Direction things, right when things are going bad for us PR-wise, but, I mean, I don’t think I did a single PR-stunt that wasn’t labelled as such at least by some, and that never seemed to decrease the value of them, you know?”

“The value of PR-stunts, my, my Styles-“

“That’s not what I meant, Lou. I loathe them, you know that, but that doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge that they work.”

“I know, love. I’m just teasing.” His head is starting to hurt from their intense conversation, and he quickly makes the decision that it’s time to talk about something else. “Dinner was fantastic, by the way, but I do believe I was promised some dessert too?”

Harry grins in response and together they manage to clear the table in no time. When they make it to the kitchen Louis gets busy putting away the leftovers and loading the dishwasher while Harry pulls a delicious smelling peach crumble out of the oven, and whips up some cream. They finish at approximately the same time, Louis fetching two dessert plates from Harry’s cupboard while Harry gets the kettle on.

“Wanna just eat in here?” Harry questions as he grabs two mugs.

Louis is rather distracted by the important task of choosing which tea they will drink, but nods nonetheless. And the next thing he knows, he’s sitting by Harry’s kitchen island, eating a bloody delicious peach crumble and drinking tea with Harry. It’s been so long since the last time they did this, it feels like. Actually, what it feels like is exactly how it was when they lived together. He voices his last thought out loud, smiling softly at Harry.

“Yeah,” the younger boy agrees, “I missed it.”

The way he says it really gets Louis, he’s being all shy and soft, like he’s embarrassed and a bit scared to admit it out loud to Louis, and, shit, Harry should never be scared to admit that he misses Louis, when Louis will always, always have missed Harry just as much.

“Me too, H. Like a proper lot. This is gonna be nice, eh?”

Harry looks up, locking his eyes with Louis’. He’s fucking glowing, his eyes big and bright, smile wide, dimples deep and so, so absolutely breathtakingly beautiful.

“Yeah, it’s going to be really nice.”

Eventually Louis glances down on his watch and sees that it’s half past ten, which definitely means he should probably get home. When he voices that thought out loud, Harry pouts like a five year old, which serves no purpose except to make Louis laugh.

“You could stay?” Harry says eventually, when Louis has calmed down, “If you’d like. I mean, it’s late, yeah? And I have a guest room—or a room if you wanna cuddle and really relive how it was when we lived together? We could check twitter and Tumblr and see how people have reacted to today.”

“Okay,” Louis finds himself agreeing before he even has the time to properly think it through, “sounds great, Harry – but then you’ll have to make me your fry-up tomorrow morning!”

Harry grins in response. “Of course, but then you’ll have to come cuddle. I’ve missed cuddling. Cuddling is great, why isn’t cuddling more of a thing?”

“We’ll make it a thing.” Louis says definitively, as they neglect the dishes on the kitchen island, and make their way upstairs to Harry’s master bedroom.

It’s not long before they’re both snuggled up in Harry’s massive bed, fluffy pillows and soft sheets surrounding them. Harry’s got his laptop in his lap, and they’re both sitting up, resting their backs against the headboard.

“Alright,” Harry says, sending a quick grin Louis’ way. “Let’s see what they’re saying. Tumblr or twitter first?”

“Tumblr.” Louis says definitively. “Check the Larry Stylinson tag.”

“Uuhm,” Harry says, fidgeting slightly with the edge of the comforter spread over them while avoiding looking at Louis. “I sort of have a blog? Like, I don’t post… But I made one like way back, um, just to keep up with what they were saying, and I sort of followed all the big blogs, right? So it’d probably be easier just looking through that dash… Uh, well... if any of them are still around, that is.”

“Sure.” Louis says simply, not really bothered by Harry’s admission. He understands perfectly well the urge to know what people are saying about you – it was a pretty regular thing for Louis to go through the different Tumblr-tags concerning him, especially in the beginning of their career and when the closeting intensified.

“Right,” Harry glances at him, a small smile playing on his lips. He quickly goes to sign in, and Louis nearly gasps when his dashboard loads. There are so many different pictures of today’s event, with so many different captions and edits, and it’s just a little bit overwhelming. There are photos of them walking together, of them standing close talking inside the store, of Harry’s hand on the small of Louis’ back and Louis’ chin resting on Harry’s shoulder.

The tags, though – the tags are what _really_ get him.

‘ _fuck you guys I think this could be it I think they might be starting the coming out process’_

_‘can’t believe I ever doubted I mean just look at them’_

_‘boyfriends in love’_

_‘do you think they’ll be out by the time of the tour??’_

_‘Fucking shit! Guys is that a hickey?!?!!?!?!? Look at Harry’s neck omg!!!’_

_‘look at it zoomed in omg larry smut!!’_

_‘GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’_

And a million other variations of the above – all expressing their excitement and happiness. If nothing else, it seems that the Tumblr shippers are happy. And, well, Louis is no expert on Tumblr, but considering the amount of notes on most of the posts, it looks as though there is still a significant amount of people left. He voices this thought out loud to Harry.

“Yeah, it’s kind of brilliant, isn’t it?”

“It’s not how the masses are going to react though, Harry. I mean, these people are already Larry-shippers. We have no idea how the rest of our fans, or former fans, will react.”

“Right, you’re right… Should we- like, should we check twitter now?”

“I… No, I don’t think so. Let’s leave it up to PR, yeah? I’m knackered anyways, I could use an early night.”

Harry giggles, like the absolute schoolgirl that he is. “It’s a quarter past eleven, Lou.”

“As I said: early.”

Harry laughs again, and Louis shuffles to his side of the bed, putting some distance between himself and Harry. He buries his head in his pillow and takes a deep breath in. Everything smells of Harry. Everything from the sheets on the bed, to the t-shirt and pyjama bottoms he’s borrowed, to the actual Harry next to him. It is one of Louis’ favourite smells in the world.

Closing his eyes, he let out a content sigh. “Night, Haz.”

Harry’s reply comes a few moments later. “Sweet dreams, Lou.”

Louis tries to relax his body enough to fall to sleep, and is just starting to properly feel the pull of oblivion, when he senses Harry move closer to him. He really ought to be surprised, but in all honesty he’s actually not. He turns around so that they’re face to face, suddenly lying ridiculously close considering the size of Harry’s enormous bed. Harry gives him a sheepish grin, and intertwines their ankles. Louis smiles softly back at him before flopping onto his back.

“You promised me cuddles!” is Harry’s reasoning, as he pushes himself closer to Louis, minimizing the already non-existing space between their bodies. Harry’s body is warm and firm – nothing like the smaller, soft boyish silhouette Louis used to lie wrapped up in four years ago.  

“I feel like this should be weirder than it is…?” Louis trails off, raising an eyebrow, and it sounds more like a question than he intended it to.

Harry huffs and then agrees: “Maybe.” He moves to rest his head on Louis’ shoulder, lying almost halfway on top of him. He then places his hand on Louis’ stomach, and Louis can feel it when he breathes in deeply, burning through the fabric of his t-shirt. “But we’ve never really been normal, have we?”

“No,” Louis agrees, tightening his arms around Harry. “I like this better anyway.”

 


	4. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's Friday again, would you look at that. Time sure does fly, eh?
> 
> A massive, massive thank you to everyone who read, left kudos and commented so far, this past week has been rough, so it was a bright light in a dark time. Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> And of course thank you to [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com) for looking it over and making it much more british and also much better. 
> 
> Also the customary thank you to [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com), because without you this would be nothing. And also because you're the queen of manips. It's so strange to me that one of yours still hasn't appeared in the fic. Next chapter!
> 
> Aaaaaaaand the chapter. Hope you enjoy! xx

_Vi kan fylde den kop helt op til randen_   
_Vi kan kaste med gnister til vi har en brand_   
_Vi kan starte det hele op igen_   
_Ja vi kan bare blive ved min ven_   
_Men hvor ender vi så henne?_   
_Hvor ender vi så henne?_

(Marie Key – ”Landet”)

**CHAPTER III:**

It’s two weeks later when they find themselves back at Modest!’s conference room, finally discussing how everything is going to proceed. It’s been two weeks filled with, well, with Harry, really. It’s been two wonderful weeks, but also two extraordinarily strange weeks. It seems as though One Direction has been mentioned more in the media within the last two weeks, than they have for the last two _years_. It's been kind of funny, really, following people’s speculation and theories, and Louis has started getting a bit of a kick out of tweeting suggestive stuff. It's essentially like playing a really elaborate prank on the world.

The fans had run particularly rampant the day after their shopping trip, when Louis had been papped putting petrol on his car around noon, wearing a lilac American Apparel jumper and his own jeans from the day before.  There’d been no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was wearing Harry’s sweater, the sheer size of it being a dead giveaway, as well as the millions of photos floating around the internet of Harry himself wearing it years ago. It was a stroke of genius, if he says so himself, leaving little to no doubt that Louis had spent the night at Harry’s.

Never mind that nothing but some innocent cuddling between mates had happened.

Beyond that, they’d made sure to arrive to rehearsals together, taking fan photos upon entering and exiting their rehearsal space, and generally spending loads of time at both their places. They’d eaten out in various parts of London, and even driven up to Manchester to have dinner at Rosso’s again. It’d just been nice. Very nice. Not even feeling like a publicity stunt, really.

Now though, they’re sitting here again, and it would all be fine and dandy, if not for the fact that Louis feels horrible. His throat had been starting to hurt the night before, and when he woke this morning it was to a fever, terrible cough, and a throat that feels like someone is rubbing it with sandpaper every time he talks.

So he tries not to. Talk, that is.

Harry keeps casting concerned glances his way, but whether it’s due to Louis’ silence or the fact that he looks like he has died and been poorly resurrected, he doesn’t know. Everything had been done at a snail’s pace for Louis this morning, resulting in him being very late to get out of the door. He’d hailed a cab, not trusting himself to be able to drive safely, and arrived at the Modest! building at the very last moment. He and Harry hadn’t had any time to talk before the meeting began, but it was clear Harry could see that something was definitely wrong. Louis’ behaviour throughout the meeting so far could only have solidified his suspicions.

Paying proper attention to the meeting is hardly something Louis is capable of doing in between coughing up his lungs and the massive dizzy spells that seem to hit him at regular intervals, as well as just the general shitty-ness he’s feeling from the fever.

Louis has never been graciously ill. One could argue that Louis should be professional enough to power through, and Lord knows that he’s performed more concerts than he’d care to recall feeling like absolute death, but he’s definitely not feeling particularly inclined towards putting on his bravado and powering through whilst he feels like this, for a bunch of people in suits that he has little love for, while they negotiate to which degree his life is going to be a charade.

Yeah. Thanks, but no thanks.

Luckily, Harry has seemed to pick up on this, and has taken it upon himself to represent them both. Louis is eternally grateful. Harry Styles truly is too good for this world, and one day Louis is going to figure out how to give him something no one else has ever been able to, because he deserves the fucking world.

On second thoughts, that’s what Louis is doing right now. He’s giving Harry his chance to finally come out and be who he is, and even though the thought of being out and proud scares Louis more than probably anything has ever done, he’s more than willing to do it for Harry.

It’s the first time the thought solidifies itself in Louis’ mind with such clarity, and he’s relieved to find that he wants to do this. Not for himself – at least not now, but perhaps, if he’s lucky, in the long run – but for Harry. He’s doing this for Harry, and he is so, _so_ okay with it.

Turning his attention back to the people in front of them, this time Harry Magee, Richard Griffiths, and the PR lady from last time (Louis has forgotten her name again), as well as Simon Jones which, Louis supposes, makes sense. The massive entourage of other people who had been present the last time, was not to be seen now. It’s all the same probably, Louis supposes. At least he feels a little less like a cross between a zoo animal and a science guinea pig this time. Small victories, and all that.

“The response so far has been largely positive,” Simon Jones is saying, while swiping on the iPad in front of him. “And the interest in the two of you has been even better than we anticipated. As I’m sure you’ve seen, One Direction has been featured heavily in the media over the last two weeks. It’s difficult to see how it has impacted your overall popularity at this point, and perhaps we won’t get a real, proper idea until we’re looking at single and album sales, but as an indicator, both of your Twitters have seen a significant boost of followers, putting you near your old numbers. Generally, there is nothing to suggest a coming out at this stage would harm your career. On the contrary, there is much to suggest that it will help.”   

It’s probably a good thing Louis is ill, otherwise he’s not sure he could have stopped himself from snorting rather unattractively. Simon Jones is a fucking hypocrite, and man, does Louis loathe him. He may be good at his job, but he’s also an absolute dick. Two years ago coming out would have been the very worst thing that could have happened, would have destroyed the band according to the people sitting in front of him now, pitching the coming out as what’s going to save the band. Fucking ridiculous.

“So what we suggest,” Jones continues, “is that you are out by the end of the month. Since the whole purpose of this is to garner publicity, we want the coming out to be as dramatic as possible, to create as much attention as possible. The idea is that you will arrive separately from the rest of the boys to the Teen Choice Awards next Sunday, whilst holding hands. That’ll create quite a buzz when the other three arrive alone and then, we’re thinking ten minutes later, when you arrive together. It’s guaranteed to cause quite a stir.

Be affectionate on the red carpet, but don’t confirm or deny anything. We’ll release a statement confirming your relationship status that night, you’ll tweet something to thank the fans for their support, or whatever you feel like during the next couple of days, and then we’ll set you up with a bunch of interviews, some with the rest of the band, some just with the two of you. Of course you’ll be discussing the new album and the process of making it in these interviews as well, and we’ll make sure that all the articles concerning your relationship and coming out will mention your TCA performance and new album as well. How does that sound?”

Overwhelmed, Louis doesn’t even know where to begin talking, what to think. It still seems so absolutely surreal, and this plan they’ve cooked up…Louis can’t even wrap his head around it. He doubts he’d be able to, even if his head didn’t feel sluggish and heavy, and sort of like someone was taking a sledgehammer to his skull. All around, not that pleasant a feeling.

“Well…” he hears Harry start. Silence lingers for a moment and when Harry doesn’t continue, Louis tilts his head to peer at him, instantly meeting the younger man’s eyes. Seems that Harry has been looking at Louis, waiting for his approval or disapproval of the plan. It also seems that he understands, upon making eye contact with Louis, that he’s in no shape to factor into the making of the decision.

Louis is very grateful when he feels Harry’s hand squeeze his, taking this as confirmation that he will take care of everything.

“Well,” Harry says again, “I think we’re just going to trust your judgement, yeah? Just, the only demand we have is that whatever we’re to do, it has to seem real and genuine, like something we’d do. We don’t want it to get out that this is a publicity stunt; we don’t want people to speculate that maybe this isn’t real. It has to look authentic, so nothing that screams publicity stunt, okay?”

“Absolutely,” Magee quickly agrees. Louis agrees too. “Trust me, Harry. We have no intention of this arrangement ever getting out. We’re aiming for authenticity here. If anything we’ve learned what not to do through Louis and Eleanor. And we trust the two of you to act as you would if you really were dating. So far you’ve done an extraordinarily good job of being convincing.”

“Yes,” Jones agrees. “We’re very satisfied with how you’ve played things thus far. Very convincing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you really were together. I’ve had several people from the press and the industry come to me questioning what’s going on with the two of you. So, good job. It seems natural and you seem very comfortable with each other, things that were lacking between you and Eleanor, Louis. So I’m very hopeful about this. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about your PDA being as cringe-inducing as the Olympic kiss between Louis and Eleanor was. I do suggest though, that you discuss the physical aspects of your public relationship beforehand. When you kiss in public, we’d rather not have it look like it’s the first time, and-“

Wait a minute.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Scroll back, rewind the tape, fucking repeat. Louis tunes Simon’s voice out completely, his brain too caught on Simon’s last words.

When you kiss in public….

When you kiss in public….

When you kiss in public….

Holy, fucking shit. Oh, bloody buggering hell, Louis had not thought of that part, had not even for a second let his mind stray that way any of the times he’s thought of their arrangement. Shit. Shitshitshitshit. He’s going to have to kiss Harry, oh lord, what the fuck?

And… the thing is, well, it won’t be the first time, will it? It’s… not exactly something Louis thinks about a lot. In truth, he’s always actively tried not to think about it. In all honesty, Harry doesn’t even think Louis even remembers it, that’s how much he’s tried not to think about it. Enough to actually feign amnesia the morning after.

Because Louis and Harry have already kissed. Once. Fucking years ago. It’s so, so long ago and yet Louis still remembers it as though it’d happened yesterday. It was after the X Factor, the very day they’d been told they’d be making a record, and they’d gotten piss drunk, just the five of them together celebrating. Niall had ended up passed out on the kitchen floor, half-eaten sandwich lying next to him, ready for consumption when he woke up again. Zayn had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor after having thrown up his entire stomach’s content, and Liam, having not had a single drop of alcohol thanks to his lone kidney, had claimed the bed. Louis and Harry had found themselves the only ones awake, sitting close on the sofa, giggling and whispering together, drunk on vodka, and life, and each other.

Louis doesn’t know how it happened, has no idea how they got from point A to point B. All he knows is that one moment they were sitting close, laughing and practically hanging off each other, and the next they were kissing.

If there is one thing in the world Louis will never forget, it’s the feeling of Harry’s lips against his own. The way they’d moulded against his, fitting perfectly.

And fuck if it wasn’t exactly what Louis had been trying to tell himself for years that he didn’t want. Because…because Harry was, is, will always be, a boy.

Louis had been struggling with those thoughts back then so, so much. So fucking terrified of what he was feeling, because…because he liked Hannah, Hannah was great, but…kissing Hannah was nothing like kissing Harry, and it definitely wasn’t because he was Harry, it wasn’t. It was because Harry was a boy. And it was one of those things Louis had spent his entire life trying to avoid thinking about, because, really…well, it’s such a shit thing to think, but life would be a hell of a lot easier, if he wasn’t gay.

It’s not that it’s a bad thing, not at all – he didn’t think so back then either. Harry had been very upfront about his sexual preferences from the get go, and Louis had never been bothered, but Harry wasn’t the one labelled ‘the gay one’. Harry wasn’t the one who’d gotten a sexuality shoved down his throat from the general public before he’d even come to terms with it himself.

He’d grown up in Doncaster, he’d played football and been a proper lad, and being gay was absolutely not on top of his list of things that suited his life. It was stupid, a thought process influenced by the gay stereotype, and Louis hadn’t been able to realise that admitting he was gay, even just to himself, wouldn’t change a thing about who he was. Wouldn’t make him a different person, would still make him Louis, just Louis, albeit perhaps a more honest Louis.

It had been a dark time for him in that aspect – his life had been transforming, he was going through something amazing and unbelievable and just simply fantastic – but his internal battles had hung over his head like a thunder cloud.

He’d dealt with it the only way he knew how – through loads and loads of humour. Being the funny one, the class clown, that was a role Louis knew well how to play. So he’d covered up his insecurities and inner struggles with gay innuendo and loads of flirting with Harry. And whereas most of the touching had been just for them, because that was how they were, how they’d always been, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t cranked up the flirting on stage a notch. In hindsight, it had also been his own way for him to become comfortable with his sexuality, a way to ease him into the fact that he was very much not straight, when it was something he very, very much didn’t want to deal with.

If that wasn’t the most ridiculous way of dealing with ones problems, Louis doesn’t know what it was. But he’s never claimed to be particularly good at dealing with anything related to feelings, really. The humour had served as a nice distraction, had served as a fine way to ease himself into the belief that maybe it would be alright.

Thinking back on all of it, the degree of internalized homophobia he’d suffered through was extreme. And it was so fucked up too, because he had absolutely nothing against gay people. Harry was gay, and was the person Louis cared most for in the entire world alongside his family, probably, and Louis had never for a second considered that something might have been wrong with him for being gay.

It’s not that he’d thought something was wrong with him, it was more… he just didn’t want to deal with what being gay entailed for him. He didn’t want to admit that people were right, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of thinking ‘I told you so’, didn’t want to deal with the implications of apparently being a walking gay stereotype. And he was being told, constantly, what being gay would mean for his future, by management, by PR, even sometimes by his own family. How being gay would ruin his career, how it would come to mean that One Direction could no longer be. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to come out – even to himself.

It was not a part of his life he is particularly proud of.

How he dealt with Harry and the kiss is not something he is all that proud of either.

Looking back Louis has such a hard time understanding how Harry could stomach him. Harry knew, he’s sure. They’ve never actually talked about it but Louis is one hundred percent sure Harry knew very well that Louis was gay all along, long before Louis had finally chosen him to be the first person he came out to. Yet he’d never said anything, had never pressured Louis to sit down and think it through, had never as much as hinted at it.

Stand-up guy, Harry is, really.  

He’d known that it was something Louis had needed to work out on his own, even if it had taken him about a million and a half years.

He’d never been as sure of himself, or as confident, or as comfortable in his own skin as Harry, and it was probably the quality of his that he admired and envied the most, out of all of Harry’s many admirable qualities.

It had been clear all along, how much Harry had disagreed with Louis’ actions, how much he hated the idea of Eleanor, once Louis had brought her around the first time. It was clear how he had thought that Louis was just putting off facing the inevitable, the truth. Louis sometimes thinks that somehow, him denying who he truly was had been just as painful to Harry as it was to him.

He’d make his dislike of Louis’ relationship with Eleanor very clear from the beginning, being positively frosty towards her when they’d first met. It’d shocked everyone, because Harry had never been anything but polite, even to the rudest paps, but with that first meeting Harry had set the course for his interaction with Eleanor from thereon out. In other words, absolutely none.

Honestly, Louis would probably have cared more, if it weren’t for the fact that it took all his energy to maintain just a semblance of a relationship with Eleanor. It was different than with Hannah because she had been one of his best mates and it was more of a slow transcendence into something resembling romance, or as much as the two teenagers could manage, and it was never all that passionate from either of their sides. It had ended amicably.

Him and Eleanor on the other hand were supposed to be a proper adult couple. It came with certain expectations, like dinner dates and falling in love, and tons of other shit that Louis would never feel for her, because it became more and more glaringly obvious that he was very, very much not into women. Their lack of chemistry and physical intimacy had been a joke, and the amount of people who saw right through it should probably have been a proper blow to Louis’ faith in his acting abilities. As it was, he just found himself depressingly apathetic.  

This, he thinks, as much as the revelations kissing Harry had brought with it, was the catalyst for him finally admitting to himself, and coming to terms with, what he’d been perfectly aware of for years, but refused to accept.

He remembers it vividly, how it was simultaneously the best and worst day of his life. How it felt like a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders whilst heavy fear was simultaneously weighing down on his chest, compressing his lungs and heart, and threatening to reduce him to nothing.

So many conflicting feelings, emotions into overdrive, everything out of control.

Harry had been what got him through it, always Harry. He’d held him while he sobbed like there was no tomorrow, brushed away his tears with his thumbs and his lips. Holding him close, so close, pressed into his broad chest until all Louis could hear over the pounding of his own head and the sounds of his sobs, was the steady beat of Harry’s heart, anchoring him.

He’d held him close and stroked Louis’ back gently all through his confession of “I’m gay, I’m gay, I’m gay, oh fuck, I’m gay.”

It was Harry who’d been his rock through the next few months, through the break-up with Eleanor after mere months (which, thank god, had gone smoothly, the lack of chemistry and feelings thankfully having been mutual), the subsequent establishment of their PR-showmance and his coming out to the rest of the band, to their management, to his mum. He’d wanted to get it all over with once he’d finally come clean to himself, wanted to somewhat embrace it after so many years of not really being who he was. Harry had been his rock, his harbour, his ship – keeping him above water, never letting him drift away or sink into the abyss. Harry was there for him through it all, a constant support, the very, very best part of Louis’ life. His best friend.  

They’d gotten matching tattoos exactly a year later. Friendship tattoos. A ship and a compass. It had been Louis’ idea originally. Harry had been tattoo-crazy for ages and Louis had started to warm up to the idea, having already gotten a few of his own. He’d wanted to do something to show Harry how much he meant to him, that no matter how much management separated them in public, no matter how much bullshit they went through, Louis would always be there, would always be there for him.

Harry had almost cried when Louis suggested a ship and a compass. Louis’ heart may have nearly burst with affection for his best friend – so young to be shouldering so much.

It wasn’t their first tattoo as friends though, Louis thinks as he swipes his thumb over the ‘oops!’ on his forearm. Harry had gotten ‘Hi’ in Louis’ handwriting, the very first thing Louis had ever said to him, and Louis hadn’t thought twice about reciprocating. But the ship and the compass were different, so, so different, and Louis got why so many people considered them to be couples tattoos. They almost were, after all.

The ship and compass were only the first in a long line of tattoos that Larry shippers thought were couple tattoos, though. There was the butterfly on Harry’s stomach and the “it is what it is” on Louis’ chest, and they’d both known the connection between the two – Harry having come bouncing into Louis’ hotel room with an iPad with the sketch on and talking a mile a minute about a bloody butterfly on his stomach, introducing Louis to the words that he now has permanently inked into his chest. It had never been intended as anything but two separate tattoos, no matter how people had perceived them. It was the same with the rope and the anchor – Louis and Harry had both taken a shine to nautical themed tattoos, had often sat and discussed motives with each other, had gotten the idea of ropes and anchors because they both though it was cool. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t.

But it all comes back to the fact that Louis owes just about everything to Harry. He often feels – with good reason – that he wouldn’t stand tall like he does today, if not for Harry.

Harry.

Who he will have to kiss again soon. Fuck.

It’s just… they’re going to have to pretend to be a couple, a proper couple. They’re going to have to be convincing, it can’t be like the farce that was Louis’ PR-relationship with Eleanor. Louis won’t let it be. But he also doesn’t know how to make out with Harry one moment and then be best friends again the next. They’ve always been tactile and affectionate, but that’s not exactly tantamount to swapping DNA. Louis is not made for ‘casual’ or ‘friends with benefits’ – how is he supposed to snog Harry one moment and go back to being laddy-dude-bro-pals the next? Like, it’s Harry, it’s not like he can just be totally clinical about it. At any rate, he tried that with El and their Olympics picture, and look how that had turned out!

How is he supposed to snog Harry and make it seem natural? Will they have to practice? It’d be pretty bad if their first public kiss looks awkward as fuck, and how could it not? Shit, Louis will have to drink a bucket full of vodka and rely on liquid courage to cancel out any awkwardness or nerves.

It’s not like they can exactly use their only kiss as inspiration for the coming ones (fuck, ones as in plural, as in more than one, holy fucking hell). First off, they’d been drunk off their ass, and second off…well, Louis may or may not have pretended not to remember it the day after.

Oops?

Louis sometimes allows his thoughts to wander to what might have happened, if Niall hadn’t woken up from his nap on the kitchen floor and wandered into the living room of their expensive hotel room, the half-eaten sandwich from earlier clutched in his hand. It’s a scary thought because honestly, Louis was so far gone in that moment that if one of the two of them was going to stop what they were doing, it’d have had to be Harry.

Niall’s arrival though had spurred Harry and Louis to recoil from each other quicker than a vampire presented with garlic. Which was very, very much for the best.

The next morning Louis had seen no other way out than to pretend he’d had an alcohol-induced blackout, not willing to risk the awkwardness and changes that acknowledging what they’d done would bring to their relationship. Perhaps not the healthiest coping technique, but it was what it was.

Harry never brought the kiss up.

“Louis?” Simon’s voice snaps Louis out of his thoughts, making Louis focus on him, ignoring the way his vision blurs a bit. He’s really not feeling well and this meeting honestly can’t be over fast enough. “Any thoughts to add?”

“Ummm…” Louis trails off, having not been paying attention to the conversation for the last ten minutes or so, and therefore having absolutely zero idea of what they’re talking about. He feels Harry squeeze his hand. “No. No, I have nothing to add.”

Magee nods. “Alright, then. We’ll send the contracts to your lawyers to go through and we’d like them back and signed before Wednesday. We’ll brief you about the details before the TCA’s. You’re free to go now. Pleasure as always, boys.”

Louis thinks he manages to mumble an agreement, or a goodbye, or something, before quickly shaking the three men’s hands, and then he’s out of there like a bat out of hell. He has a single track mind that’s going ‘get home, get home, get home’, and he’s at the stage where he’d fight a fucking army of aliens to get there because he feels absolutely terrible, and he has never, ever needed to lie in his bed as much as he needs to right now. He might as well be dying. It’s a real possibility, he thinks.

“Louis!” Harry calls, startling Louis slightly, making him stop in his tracks in the middle of the hallway and turn around. He feels quite stupid and attempts to smile sheepishly at Harry (though he isn’t sure what kind of grimace actually shows up on his face), he’d sort of forgotten about Harry in his haste to leave the building and get home.

“Sorry, babe,” he croaks, and really, is it possible for him to be getting steadily worse when it already feels like he’s dying? “Totally forgot to say goodbye. I feel like shit, so I really just need to get home in bed.”

Harry’s in front of him now, brow furrowed in concern. “Yeah,” he says. “I could tell you weren’t feeling all that good in there. You look terrible too, proper sickly.”

Louis huffs despite their situation. “Thanks, mate. Doing a splendid job of making me feel good about myself.”

Harry’s brow furrows more. “You should always feel good about yourself.” He says quietly, as he strokes his hand over Louis’ chin before resting it against his forehead, feeling his temperature. “Shit, you’re burning up,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and well, Louis could have told him that easily enough. “Come on, I’m taking you home, yeah? I’ll make you some soup and you can curl up in my bed and sleep. You shouldn’t be alone now.”

“Harry, that’s-“ not really necessary, is what Louis is trying to say, but Harry silences him with a look, and honestly, Louis sees no reason to argue further. He’s always been filled with self-pity when ill, and having someone take as good care of him as Harry undoubtedly will, is a definite plus in his book. “Okay.” He says simply, managing a small smile that is more smile than grimace, which he counts that as a success.

Harry’s answering smile is small and private, but nonetheless filled with love. He wraps his arm around Louis’ slim frame, and Louis allows himself to slumps against Harry, relishing in the way he fits against his side perfectly, like Louis is a piece of IKEA furniture and Harry is the shrew that holds him together. Or something. Whatever, Louis feels like shit and they fit, okay?

They make their way out of the Modest! building, Louis relying entirely on Harry’s guidance, having buried his face in the crook of his neck, trusting Harry to steer him safely to his car.

“I’m not sure,” Harry says quietly, once they’re outside and walking down the sidewalk to where Harry has parked. “But I think I might see a pap in the car parked across the road from mine. Either that or some dude with a very big camera feeling the need to point it at us.”

“Hmm.” Louis hums in response, trying to will his body to pull away from Harry’s embrace. He doesn’t get farther than the tiniest twitch though, before Harry tightens his arms around him, and Louis feels his cool lips against his burning forehead. It feels like heaven. All that’s missing is harps playing and angels singing. An old man with a beard saying welcome, and Louis would think he really had died and gone to paradise.

“Stay.” Harry whispers against his forehead before pulling back. “We’re supposed to be a couple anyway, no one’s going to question this.”

They will though, Louis thinks, but he doesn’t voice it out loud. They will because their relationship status won’t be confirmed for another week, but that’s not really the point, is it? Harry is right, all things pointing to them being a couple is a good thing at this point. Makes it more believable when everything’s revealed.

Harry halts as Louis assumes they’ve reached his car. He opens the passenger door for him and gently guides him towards it. For the briefest of moments, Louis gets the urge to lean up and peck him on the mouth as thanks, but luckily he catches himself before he embarrasses himself so thoroughly. The fever’s really meddling with his brain, it seems.

Once he’s seated comfortably in Harry’s car, he leans his head back against the seat and manages to fall asleep as Harry guides the car smoothly through traffic to his house.  

He wakes up some time later when Harry is gently shaking his shoulder. He’s parked in front of his house and has moved around the car to Louis’ side, his hand gripping Louis’ shoulder gently.

“We’re here, love.” Harry says, voice quiet and gentle. “C’mon, let’s get you into bed, yeah?”

Louis thinks he grunts an agreement, but he’s still groggy and confused from a lovely mixture of fever and sleep, so he can’t really be sure. It’s 50/50, probably. He moves to get out of the car, limbs heavy and uncooperative, and he sways dangerously once he’s finally standing, blood having rushed to his brain and caused a head rush that leaves him dizzy and disoriented.

Harry grabs his hips, steadying him, and he’s suddenly standing so, so close. Or maybe he already was. Louis doesn’t know. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Louis registers how nice Harry smells. Like a combination of something fresh, and fruity, and something uniquely Harry. Huh.

Louis rests his head against Harry’s shoulder, concentrating on breathing in and out, willing the world to stop spinning.

“You want me to carry you up?” Harry questions, one of his hands moving to Louis’ back, stroking it softly, gently pressing Louis closer to him. He’s teasing probably but honestly, Louis is quite certain if he said yes, Harry would do it, dodgy back be damned.

Louis shakes his head, letting out a deep breath against Harry’s shoulder. “No,” he says quietly, his arms moving around Harry’s waist to hold the younger boy against him briefly.

Harry is solid and warm and lovely. Grounding. And isn’t that some metaphorical shit right there?

“No,” he repeats. “I can walk. I just stood up too quickly, probably.”

“Okay.” Harry agrees after a moment of silence. “Okay.” Louis feels Harry’s lips against the top of his head, and can’t help but smile against Harry’s collarbone.

“Let’s get you inside, yeah?”

Louis lets Harry steer him as he turns slightly, fitting Louis under his arm once again, and walking them towards the house.

 

A couple of minutes later when Louis is finally sitting on Harry’s bed, he thinks he’s honestly never been so relieved to be on a bed in his entire life.

“Do you want something to change into?” Harry questions, after he’s finished with fluffing the pillows behind Louis, and generally fussing over the state of his bed.

Louis contemplates the trackies and sweatshirt he’s wearing, and imagines getting under Harry’s covers wearing it. Not exactly a pleasant thought considering the fact that most of the time he feels like he’s burning up, only interrupted by the times he feels as though he might freeze to death. He thinks Harry’s duvet will probably help against those instances.

“Maybe just a t-shirt?”

Harry slides his hand down Louis’ cheek, and Louis can’t help but lean into the contact.

“Of course.”

Harry withdraws his hand and moves towards his closet, but Louis barely has the time to miss the coolness of his hand on his face before he’s back. This time he’s clutching a t-shirt Louis knows will be massive on himself, but the fabric is cool and it won’t cling to his body and it’s perfect.

“Get changed, yeah? I’ll get you a glass of water. Have you taken any Panadol today?”

Louis shakes his head in the negative, before bending down to remove his socks. It’s a slow process removing all his clothes but he manages somehow, before slipping into Harry’s t-shirt. He sighs as the smell of Harry engulfs him, and the fabric attempts to cool his overheated body. It feels a little bit like heaven.

When he looks up, Harry is standing in the doorway leading to the bathroom, a glass clutched in one hand. Harry clears his throat and moves all the way into the room, settling on the bed next to Louis. He holds out his palm, two small pills lying there, and hands Louis the glass of water. Louis swallows the pills gratefully, thanking Harry with a smile. Harry smiles back, and lifts himself from the bed as Louis settles back against the pillows, sinking into the paradise that is Harry’s bed. The sheets are soft and cool - Egyptian cotton or some shit, probably. Whatever.

Harry lifts the covers over Louis’ body and tucks him in gently before brushing his hand against his forehead, moving his fringe to the side.

“Get some sleep, yeah? I’ll make some soup for you to eat when you wake up.”

Louis smiles in acknowledgement again, it’s all he can muster as a reply, feeling how sleep is already pulling him under its spell, the feel of the soft sheets against his body and Harry’s hand gently stroking his head being better than any lullaby. Within moments, he’s fast asleep once more.

When he wakes up later, he feels significantly better, the Panadol having done its job of reducing his fever somewhat. He’s still not all good, but the feeling of imminent death has lessened somewhat, so he counts that as a clear win. Louis 1, fever 0 (or maybe, technically, the fever should be ahead several points, seeing as it got Louis in the first place, but really, details shmetails).

He reaches out for his phone, which is curiously lying on the bedside table next to a glass of water, and he figures that it must have been Harry who placed it there when he’d picked up Louis’ discarded clothes at some point after he had fallen asleep. Said clothes are nowhere in sight but, knowing Harry he’s probably thrown it in the washing machine already.

Looking at the time, he sees that it’s a quarter past four in the afternoon, meaning he’s managed to get a decent amount of sleep. Next thing he notices is the different notifications on his front screen. There’s a text from his mother asking him to call her later, as well as a missed call from Zayn and a twitter notification that Harry has tweeted something not long ago.

He texts back his mum quickly, telling her he’ll call tomorrow, and decides to ignore Zayn – if it’s anything important he can call again, Louis is definitely not feeling up to speaking with anyone save from Harry right now. Lastly he opens twitter to see what kind of mad thing Harry has deemed worthy of making into a tweet this time.

[ ](http://imgur.com/qVHjY2n)

There’s a picture attached and Louis clicks on the link to see it properly. He is taken to Harry’s Instagram account, and met with a delicious picture of the soup that is no doubt simmering in a pot downstairs in this very moment.

[ ](http://imgur.com/hgVB1YM)

Louis honestly hadn’t considered how hungry he actually was until he saw the tweet. He can only imagine how people must be speculating right now about whether or not Harry is making soup for him. They should probably do something to confirm that later. Might as well milk this for what they can.

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” Harry’s voice startles Louis out of his thoughts, and he looks up from his phone to see Harry standing in the doorway, a tray between his hands, two bowls of what Louis assumes must be the soup on it as well two mugs, steam rising from all of it.

Louis sits up straighter in bed and places his phone back on the bedside table. “Yeah,” he says, smiling as Harry makes his way inside the room, walking carefully as to not trip and spill the contents of the tray everywhere. “Just woke up.”

“Feeling any better?” Harry places the tray on Louis’ lap, and his mouth waters at the heavenly smell of the soup that meets him. Harry’s made tea as well, and it’s possibly the best sick meal Louis could have imagined.

“Yeah,” Louis confirms. “Sleeping did me good, I think the fever’s gone down.”

Harry hums and stretches his arm out, placing his hand against Louis’ forehead to feel his temperature. “You’re not quite as hot anymore, no.”

“Hey!” Louis gasps, mock-offended. “I beg to differ on that, please and thank you.”

It takes Harry a fraction of a moment to catch up, and then he’s grinning, dimples on full display.

“You know perfectly well that’s not what I meant, you vain, vain person. You’re always hot, is that what you want to hear? Though I suppose you look more cute right now, bundled up in blankets like that-“ Harry trails off, apparently taking a moment to think, before his grin widens and he pulls out his phone from his impossibly tight pocket (how he fits anything into those jeans of his, Louis will never know). “In fact,” he continues, “Maybe I should just…”he aims his phone at Louis and in that moment, Louis understands what he’s about to do.

“If you take a photo, I swear to God I’ll chop off your willy, Harold!” Louis says, the words out of his mouth before he even has the time to think anything through.

Harry’s answer comes in the form of a pout, but he places his phone on the table next to Louis’ and climbs into bed. He reaches for one of the bowls on the tray still situated on Louis’ lap, and draws up his knees towards his chest, cradling the bowl in the space between.

Louis reaches for his own bowl, and they eat in companionable silence for the next few moments. The soup is absolutely delicious but then again, Harry’s the one who made it, so Louis would be a fool to have expected anything else.

He doesn’t notice when Harry abandons his bowl in favour of his phone, but soon he’s interrupted in his eating by the sound of a notification on his phone. He ignores it for a moment, eating the last few spoonfuls of soup, and then reaches across Harry to grab his own phone.

It’s yet another tweet-notification from Harry’s account, and Louis glances at Harry with a raised brow, but is met with nothing but a self-satisfied smirk from the boy next to him. He shakes his head grinning, because Harry truly is a wonderful dork, before sliding his thumb across the screen of his iPhone to open the tweet.

 [](http://imgur.com/2EqM0Tk)

“Really? Is that the best you could come up with, H?” he questions, but gets no answer in return, as Harry is back to typing away at his phone. Not a moment passes before another notification sounds.

[ ](http://imgur.com/OV4bmbf)

Louis groans and reaches for Harry’s phone, meaning to pry it from his hands.

“God, gimme that phone, Styles. I invoke your rights to tweet, bloody hell, you’re an embarrassment!”

Harry’s laugh is loud and unabashed as he twists his body away from Louis, holding the phone out of his reach. Louis’ entire body aches, and his headache is starting to make a fully fledged return, as he angles his body towards Harry in attempt to wrestle the phone from him. He ignores it.

He’s barely leaned towards Harry, before he feels the tray he’s quite forgotten is still situated in his lap slide. Instinctually he reaches down to steady it, and somehow miraculously avoids getting tea from the still filled mugs all over the bed.

For a moment they’re both quiet, eyes locked. Harry’s eyes are still dancing with amusement, and soon he lets an honest to God giggle out. Louis can’t help but smile back.

“Oops.” Harry says, grin wide again. He reaches to take a mug from the tray. “Drink your tea before it get too cold, Louis.” He pats Louis on the top of his head mockingly, and Louis scowls at him, but takes the tea nonetheless.

It’s lukewarm by now, definitely a tad colder than how Louis would prefer it, but the liquid is soothing for his throat, and Harry still knows how to make Louis’ tea to perfection.

Yet another notification sounds, and he looks up at a very smug looking Harry.

“Finished now?”

Harry nods his confirmation, grin still wide, prompting Louis to take his phone and check what he has tweeted this time.

[ ](http://imgur.com/PPtj8FH)

A surprised laugh escapes Louis. “You’re really something else, H.”

“What?” Harry questions. “I’d much like to keep it, thanks, and you never know with you and your threats.”

Louis smiles at him patronisingly, and drawls sarcastically, “Don’t worry, love. Wouldn’t want to rob the world of the eighth wonder that is your cock.”

Harry pouts. “I’ll have you know, I’ve never had any complaints about my dick, thank you very much.”

Louis hums in agreement, before saying casually, “Well, it’s a nice dick.”

The look of shock on Harry’s face is priceless, and Louis bursts out laughing, very satisfied with himself.

“Heeeeeeeyyyyyyyy!” Harry whines, shoving Louis’ shoulder with his own. “That’s not nice. Don’t make fun of my dick, it has feelings too you know.”

“Not making fun, love. I’ve seen it enough times to give you the totally platonic assessment that it’s a nice dick.” And, uhm…what? What the fuck is Louis even saying? How are they even having this conversation? Jesus Christ, Louis really needs to get his brain-to-mouth-filter checked out.

Harry smirks. “It’s even nicer when hard, love.”

And, oh, bastard has upped his game. For the briefest of moments, Louis doesn’t know what to say. He settles for dry sarcasm. That should really be his motto, that. Forget carpe diem and all that jazz. No, Louis Tomlinson lives by ‘when in doubt, use sarcasm’. It’s totally a thing. And if not, it should be. Louis will make it a thing, yes. Copyright: Louis Tomlinson, etc. etc.

“I’m just gutted I’ll never get to experience such wonders.”

Harry doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a damn near thing, Louis is sure. “Proper torn up, I see?”

“Oh, yes. However will I live on?”

“Well-” Harry starts, but is immediately cut off by Louis.

“Do not finish that sentence, Harold.”

Harry laughs, and leans over to plant a smacking kiss on Louis’ temple. “Wouldn’t dream of it, babes.”

Louis shakes his head in fond exasperation. He opens up twitter again, as Harry collects the tray from his lap and places it on the floor along with all their bowls and mugs. By the time Harry is back in the bed, Louis has composed his own tweet as an answer to Harry’s. He smirks when he hears Harry’s phone go off with a notification.

Harry looks at him meaningfully, as he opens the tweet on his phone. “You better not have tweeted anything about my dick, Louis.”

Laughing, Louis shakes his head. “I would never, darling. I’ve got class.”

He glances down at the tweet still open on his phone and smiles. They’re doing a splendid job at the showmance thing, if he must say so himself.  

Harry smiles softly at him once he’s read the tweet. “You’re welcome, Lou.” He slides further down the bed, rolling onto his side and facing Louis, making himself comfortable.

“Should you really be here?” Louis questions, as he nestles into the bed again, facing Harry. “Don’t wanna get you ill too.”

“Hmm.” Harry hums. “Definitely should. Now, shush, I’m tweeting.”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, but stays quiet nonetheless, as he waits for the notification of yet another tweet. It comes mere moments later.

[ ](http://imgur.com/qyc4PHW)

Louis smiles again, and it seems a near permanent feature on his face ever since he started spending all this time with Harry. It’s nice.

“I’m really feeling the love, mate.”

Harry grins in response, before snatching Louis’ phone. Louis makes to protest, but then decides against it, as Harry places both his and Louis’ phones on the bedside table.

There’s a certain change in the atmosphere, when Harry has his head placed on the pillow again. He’s gently chewing on his bottom lip, a tell-tale sign that he’s nervous about what he’s going to say next. Louis stays quiet and waits for Harry to speak.

It comes a few seconds later.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to say to your family?”

Louis sighs, and buries his head in the pillow for a short moment before looking back at Harry. Harry’s eyes are filled with sympathy when Louis’ meets them.

It had been the absolute worst part of the arrangement with Eleanor, besides the forced public separation from Harry, keeping it a secret from his family. His mother had known, of course, and Dan and Mark, but the rest of his family, the rest of the world really, had been under the impression that Louis and Eleanor were a genuine couple all through the two and a half years they dated.

Lying to his family is one of the worst things Louis has ever done, but he also understood perfectly well why it was a necessity.

He is still lying, really. Or, maybe not actively lying, they certainly do not have a habit of discussing Louis’ sexuality over Sunday roast at home, but he is definitely lying by omission. To this day, his mum is the only one who is aware of Louis’ sexuality. Maybe Dan knows too, Louis doesn’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise him if his mum had told him.

It isn’t that he doesn’t trust the rest of his family, but it’s kind of that he can’t really trust them with this. Because his siblings are too young, too easily manipulated, their social media presence too big. At least he’ll get to let them in a little more, at least he will get to introduce them to an integral part of himself finally, at least they will be one step closer to actually knowing him.

If they’ll still speak to him after he’s dropped that bomb, that is. He wouldn’t put it past them not to, to be honest. He’s been lying to them for years, after all. Not being cross would probably be the illogical reaction in this scenario.

And he really owes it to them all – to Mark, to the girls, to his grandparents – to tell them this in person. Louis can barely begin to imagine how much worse it would be if they found out about it all through the press. God, no. But telling them is definitely not something he looks forward to either. How do you even say something like this? After years of them having ‘defended’ him against something that was actually the truth? Something that they should never have had to defend him from in the first place? What if they won’t want anything to do with him after this? What if they’ll look at him differently when they’re told he’s gay? They’re concerns Louis has been having ever since he came out to himself, but concerns he’s done everything he could to not think about, and every day he’s waited on telling them has only made it that much worse. It may have been necessary, but it definitely has not done any good for his chances of forgiveness.

Fuck, Louis is not looking forward to these conversations.

And he’ll have to have them all now. Soon. No time to prepare. Because they’re leaving for America on Saturday, in just less than a week. He has only five days to tell them all, and he should really do it face to face. God, why is his life such a bloody soap opera?

“I can’t really tell them the truth, can I?” Louis finally says, voice sounding weak and dejected even to his own ears. “Like, Fizzie and Lottie are only fifteen and seventeen. The rest of them even younger. They’re all on twitter and Instagram and shit. They’ll get asked about it by their friends, people they meet on the street. I can’t really ask of them to keep this kind of secret. I can’t put this on their shoulders, can’t face them with the consequences of letting something slip. The less who know the better.” He takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes. Why is he always getting himself into these kinds of situations? He opens his eyes a moment later when he feels Harry’s hand on his forearm, gesture comforting.

“I suppose I get to come clean about my sexuality, though. Here’s to hoping they’ll still talk to me after they’ve learned that I’ve been lying to them for years.”

“Lou-“

Louis shakes his head. “It’s fine, H. No, God, this is so fucked up.” He pauses for a moment, running his hand through his unstyled fringe. “I’ll tell my mum the truth, of course. And Dan, probably. Don’t know about Mark. I suppose he deserves the truth as well. I don’t know. Fuck. How am I supposed to differentiate between who is old enough and trustworthy enough to know the truth? Because this can’t get out, Harry. It’d ruin us.

And I’ll have to tell them before we leave. They deserve to hear this from me, not some tabloid or livestream. It’s the least I can do. I’m gonna have to go to Donny soon. Tomorrow, possibly. Tuesday morning at the latest. I’m going to have to fill my mum in on everything. I’ve been avoiding answering her questions for weeks now. And I’m gonna have to stop by my grandparents, and I’ll have to fill Stan in. And shit, Haz, what if they don’t buy it? What if they see through the lie?”

“Do you…” Harry trails off, biting his bottom lip once again. He clears his throat and tries again, voice oddly small. “Do you want me to come with you?”

And. Oh. Louis hadn’t even considered that as a possibility.

“I- I don’t- you’d do that?” Louis managed to stammer out, shocked or surprised or something.

Harry looks almost offended at Louis’ words. Or his tone. Either. Both. Whatever.

“What do you mean would I do that? Of course I’d do that, Lou. I’d love to go with you. If you think it would make it easier for you in any way, there is literally nothing I’d love more than to go with you. Maybe it’d help, maybe it would make it more convincing, make it easier to convince them, I don’t know. We’re apparently a very believable couple. I could try talking to Lottie and Fizzie if they become cross with you, help you explain the situation to your mum, I don’t know. Just be there for you.”

Louis doesn’t even need a moment to think about it, before answering. “Yeah, fuck, Harry. I’d love that. Really. That’d be amazing.”

Harry beams at him.

And, really, yes. Fuck. It would be brilliant to have Harry there. Help him explain it, a sort of comforting presence. Someone on his side. Someone to help him if he got stuck. Just someone who knows one hundred percent what the truth is. Louis always weathers a storm better with Harry by his side. If nothing else, these past six years have at least taught him that.

And it’s like Strong, isn’t it? Because it is a little bit for Harry. Or a lot. For him, about him. At least in its intended version. Before the other writers had come with their inputs and made it into a proper love song, it was all about Harry. Louis’ Strong is all about Harry. About how he’d been there for Louis through some of the toughest times of his life, how they were forever tied together, because having Harry in his life was as essential as breathing for Louis’ existence. And it was Harry who’d taught Louis that he didn’t have to do everything by himself, he didn’t have to internalize everything and shoulder all his problems alone. That is was okay to ask for help, that is was okay to say that you needed someone else, and it was always Harry, it was always him Louis needed, always him who knew what to say, what to do, how to help Louis no matter the situation. Most times Louis didn’t even have to say anything before Harry was by his side, doing exactly what Louis needed him to do without receiving any instructions. Most of the time Harry’s mere presence makes Louis feel stronger.

So Strong is really his song. Harry’s song. Technically. It would be a lot more so, if the other writers hadn’t steered it towards being a love song as much as they had. But Louis had gotten it then, and he got it now. A love song was much more down One Direction’s alley and also, his and Harry’s friendship was unique. Hard to comprehend for most outsiders, not that Louis had been reckless enough to divulge to the others that he was writing about Harry. They’d automatically assumed he was talking about Eleanor, and Louis had seen no reason to correct them.

But he gets why people misunderstand and misinterpret, and generally just don’t understand his and Harry’s friendship. Honestly, most of the time Louis isn’t even sure he understands it himself. It just is. It transcends the normal borders of friendship and exists on another plane entirely. In this bubble that is just HarryandLouis. It’s something that Louis would never have thought he’d ever get with anyone. He didn’t even know it was a possibility, to be entirely honest, knowing another person so well that they are practically an extension of you. An intimacy far deeper than any relationship he’s ever been in, any personal connection he’s ever had with anyone. They just get each other, they understand each other. They fit. Plain and simple, they fit. And sometimes Harry’s presence, his touch, his voice and his everything is as essential to Louis as his beating heart or his working brain, as the air into his lungs.

It’s not logical. It’s not ‘normal’, it’s not anything Louis can explain properly. Sometimes it could probably be discussed if it’s even healthy.

But it is, and it’s the best thing Louis’ got.  

“It’d be good for this whole charade too, yeah?” Harry says, moving his hands to gently sweep Louis’ fringe to the side. Louis’ eyes flutter at the contact. “We’d get some speculation about me going to Donny with you, get the talk going. I could call up Nick, and have him call during his show while we’re driving up there, drop a few hints, maybe tweet something. Win-win, eh?”

Louis doesn’t quite consider Nicolas Grimshaw’s involvement a win-win, but it’s not exactly like they’re the enemies the papers wanted them to be at one point either. They just don’t really see eye to eye on certain things, is the thing. Certain things mainly being Harry.

And it’s not that Louis resents Nick for his public friendship with Harry, for how they could spend time together in the public’s eye, how they could be surrounded by relationship rumours and it was just fine, when the mere whisper of Harry and Louis being even within ten inches of each other had practically used to make Modest! call emergency meetings. It’s not. (Maybe it is).

It’s a lot about the way that Nick used to trash Louis on the radio too, though. Louis doesn’t know what he ever did to the man to make him hold such a grudge. Maybe Louis hasn’t always been super friendly towards him, maybe it’s just that Harry’s always liked Louis better. Ha!

Fact of the matter is though, that Louis Tomlinson is not Nick Grimshaw’s biggest fan, and the feeling is very much mutual.

“Yeah.” Louis says instead of voicing those thoughts. “Win-win. So tomorrow?”

Harry smile softens even further, until he’s looking at Louis with that fond expression that used to make people think they were in love with each other. “Let’s wait ‘till Tuesday morning, huh love? Give you an extra day to recover?”

Louis nods, eyelids starting to get more and more heavy. “Yeah, sounds good, yeah. I’ll call my mum and set it all up tomorrow.”

“That sounds like a brilliant idea, Lou. You should get some sleep now though, get better, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees sleepily, “night Haz.”

“Night Lou.”

The last thing Louis feels before sleep overtakes him is Harry’s lips against his forehead.


	5. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii!  
> Same as last time, thank you so much for reading and especially for leaving kudos and comments! I love you all, I do I do.
> 
> Thank you to [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com) for looking this over and making it much better and more British! 
> 
> Thank you to [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com) for being awesome and for being the Queen of Manips! She's the maker of the two mindblowing ones in this chapter - go send her some love. Thank you, thank you, thank you babes! 
> 
> And here's four - I hope you enjoy! If you like it, please leave a comment? xx

_Folk de går fra hinanden_  
 _De kan ikke få det til at hænge sammen_  
 _Og så står der en anden  
_ _Men vi to kan ikke klare os uden hinanden_

(Marie Key – ”Uden Forsvar”)

**CHAPTER IV:**

Louis is the first to wake up the next day, keeping his eyes closed even after regaining consciousness. He feels remarkably better, few traces of the fever and its side-effects left. It’s usually these 24-hour things that hit Louis the hardest for some reason. Whatever. He’s just glad he’s feeling better, what with the next couple of weeks he’s facing.

Maybe it was Harry’s chicken soup, maybe it was magic. Louis wouldn’t be surprised to be honest.

Sometime during the night they’ve ended up curled around each other, cuddling. Louis’ forehead resting against Harry’s bare chest. He’ll surely get a nice close-up of one of Harry’s birds as soon as he opens his eyes. Harry has his arms around him, holding him against his chest, and Louis’ hands are resting against it, the skin smooth and warm under his touch. Their feet are tangled, and Louis briefly wonders if they could actually manage to sleep in the same bed without ending up intertwined with each other.

Probably not.

Harry is a notorious cuddler, if nothing else.

Needing to take a piss, he untangles himself from Harry as gently as possible, careful not to wake the younger man. He must have stayed up long after Louis had fallen asleep, fever and illness having significantly put a cramp on his normal bedtime.

He manages to get out of bed somehow, and though Harry twists a bit in his sleep and pulls the duvet closer to his chest, cuddling it instead of Louis, he doesn’t wake up.

As a last minute decision, Louis grabs his phone from the bedside table, before making his way to the bathroom down the hall, not wanting to risk waking up Harry by using the ensuite one.

He checks the time on his phone as he’s moving down the hallway. It’s a quarter past eight and Louis notes somewhere in the back of his mind that he’s practically slept more this night than he sometimes used to do over several days at the height of their career. Weird, that.

He also notes that it’d be a reasonable time to call his mum and inform her that she should be expecting both him and Harry sometime around noon tomorrow. She’ll complain about the short notice he’s giving her, surely, but she’ll only be teasing, because Louis knows how much she misses him and that she’d never pass up an opportunity to have him visit. Or Harry.

His mum has always adored Harry but got to see him less and less as time progressed, and his and Louis’ friendship was buried more and more from the rest of the world. As it is now, Louis doesn’t think his mum has seen Harry properly for years maybe, though he knows that they still keep in contact. It’s the same with Louis and Anne, though he actually has been to visit them a few times during the hiatus, the last time on Harry’s birthday for a quiet dinner. It’s much easier with Harry’s family, has always been much easier with them because they’ve always known the entire truth, there has never been any reason to hide anything from them, never been any reason to constantly be on guard like with his own family.

He takes care of his business, so to speak, and washes his hands, splashing a bit of water in his head. He’s looked better but, all things considered, it could be a lot worse. He needs a shower though, the feeling of dried sweat clinging to his body from yesterday’s yoyo temperature.

He decides to call his mum first though, quickly dialling her familiar number. It only rings twice before she picks up on the other end.

“Louis?” She breathes, her voice familiar even through the phone. It’s been too long since he’s been home, too long since they’ve talked. If he’s being honest, he’s been ignoring her, knowing that she’d ask him about Harry, demand an explanation, and he hasn’t known what to tell her.

“’Morning mum.”

“Louis William Tomlinson.” Whoops. “You’ve been ignoring me for the past two weeks, you scoundrel. I’ve had half a mind to drive down to London and demand that you talk to me! Is that any way to treat your poor mother?”

“Sorry, mum.”

Louis can hear her sigh on the other end. “It’s alright, love. Just... is everything alright with you? You’re not in trouble? You know you can tell me anything.”

Louis smiles, his mother’s concern warming him like a blanket. He’s twenty-four, nearly twenty-five, and she still dotes on him like a toddler, still worries about him like he’s still a child. He used to find it annoying. Now, though, he finds it comforting.

“Everything is fine, mum. I do have something to tell you, though.”

“Is it about Harry?”

Louis is stunned into silence for a moment before recovering somewhat, stammering out a “What?”

“I don’t live on the moon, love. I’ve seen the papers too. I--“

“No!” Louis interrupts her. “No. No, I mean, it’s not what it looks like, but it is about Harry, sort of... Fuck, mum--“

“Language, poppet.”

Louis sighs. “Sorry. It’s about me. And Harry. But not like you think, just. I’d rather explain this to you in person. I’m coming up tomorrow, yeah? With Harry. I’m bringing Harry, if that’s okay?”

His mum is quiet for a moment. “Of course. Yes, love. Of course you can come, and Harry too. It’ll be nice to see him again properly. I’ll get the spare room ready for you, though I suppose one of you will have to sleep on the sofa, or maybe I can convince Lottie to bunk in Fizzie’s room. How long will you be staying?”

“’Till early Wednesday afternoon, I think.” Louis says, doing the quick maths in his head. If they leave then, they can still manage a day with Anne and Robin. Harry would like that, Louis thinks. “And don’t worry about the rooms. Harry and I can share the spare room; it’s nothing we haven’t done before.” In fact they’ll have to, if they’re going to keep up the charade for Louis’ siblings. He doesn’t mention that though.

“We’ll work it out when you get here. Call me when you’re on the road, yeah? So we know when to expect you? And I expect to get a long talk and a detailed explanation when you get here, is that understood?”

Louis grins, his mum’s mock stern tone of voice as recognisable to him as the sound of running water.

“Aye, aye ma’am!”  He doesn’t salute, but it’s a damn near thing.

“Good boy,” his mum says fondly. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Boo. Drive safe, yeah? Give my love to Harry.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, “I’ll do that. See you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you too, dear.”

They both hang up and Louis turns on the water in the shower, adjusting the temperature until it’s just right. He strips out of Harry’s t-shirt, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, his black boxer briefs following next, leaving him completely naked. He has the good sense to pull out a towel from the cupboard he knows Harry keeps stocked with such essentials, laying it next to the sink before slipping into the shower.

The warm water hits him and it’s exactly what Louis needs, loosening the tightness he hadn’t even noticed in his shoulders. This entire thing is just... so fucking scary. So, so bloody terrifying. He’s about to come out. In less than a week he’s coming out to the entire world, and Jesus Christ he’s not had enough time to prepare. Nowhere near enough time to prepare. If he could dictate the amount of time he should be allowed to have to prepare himself, he’d probably never get around to actually doing it.

Maybe it’s a good thing it’s happening like this. Like ripping off a plaster, sort of. Quick and without hesitating, and then it’s just done.

He’s coming out to the world in less than a week. He’s coming out to his family tomorrow.

His sisters, shit. What if they never want to speak to him again after this? What if they resent him so much for lying to them all these years that they never want anything to do with him ever again?

Louis has never been so grateful for Harry’s offer to do anything, as he is of his offer to come with him now. Of all the stand-up things Harry has done, this is by far the best. Louis cannot even begin to express what a relief it is to him. Saint Harry should be his name, really.

Louis allows himself an extra long shower, taking his time with applying shampoo to his semi-long hair (he should really make a decision about that soon – it’s at the point where he should either cut it or commit to growing it longer like he’d done in early 2014. Perhaps he’d ask Harry’s opinion later). When he’s finally rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and has deemed himself sufficiently clean (and pruned), he turns off the water and steps out of the shower.

Grabbing the towel to dry off, he eyes his discarded clothes with distaste, not really feeling like putting them on again. Running the towel through his dripping hair, he decides to borrow some of Harry’s clothes instead. He wraps the towel around his waist, grabs the dirty clothes, and makes his way out of the bathroom.

He tiptoes into Harry’s bedroom, careful not to wake him as he makes his way towards the chest of drawers he knows contains Harry’s underwear (and his millions of headscarves, even If he  hasn’t worn one in such a long time. Louis kind of misses them). He finds a pair of basic black briefs, much like the ones he was wearing earlier, stifling his curiosity when seeing the nondescript black shoebox sitting in the corner of the drawer. Louis kind of suspects what might be hidden in there, but has enough respect for Harry’s privacy not to check if he is right in his suspicions.

Dropping his towel on the floor, he bends over slightly and pulls on the pants.

“Are you stealing my underwear?” Harry questions, voice still rough with sleep, and Louis whips around so fast he nearly spins an extra round. Harry is sitting up in bed slightly, his weight resting on his elbows, and he’s staring intently at Louis.

Louis is suddenly conscious of the fact that he’s near naked and wet in the middle of Harry’s bedroom, and that naught but seconds ago his was bending over, giving Harry a lovely view of his naked backside. Ahem. Better not think of that.

“Shit, Harry,” he settles for instead, hand moving to rest over his heart, warm against his naked, still damp chest, the feeling of his heart beating a mile a minute grounding him to the present. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Sorry.” Harry grins easily. “How are you feeling today?”

Louis takes a moment to answer, picking up the towel from the floor and clutching it in front of him in a weak attempt to cover up.

 “Better. Um, yeah. Loads better. And I’ve talked to mum, she’s expecting us tomorrow.”

Harry smiles, small and genuine. “Great. Go find some clothes, just take whatever you’d like. I’ll get started on breakfast, what do you want?”

“Eggs.” Louis states without a moment’s hesitation. “Benedict, if you don’t mind?”

“Coming right up, love.” Harry says as he swings his legs out of bed, exposing the fact that’s he’s dressed only in a pair of pants like Louis.

And it’s just. Louis’ not blind, okay? And he’s not exactly straight either. So he can’t really help but let his eyes travel down Harry’s half naked body. And really, everything about Harry is attractive, from his broad shoulders, to the firm biceps, to the tattoos littering his body. His v-line, his long legs, his narrow hips. He’s a sight to behold, truly.

Shaking himself mentally, Louis offers Harry a smile that he hopes isn’t as visibly strained as it feels and turns around, facing the dresser again. He pushes in the drawer and is only halfway surprised when he hears Harry’s voice again, calling his name from the doorway of the bedroom.

“Hey Lou,” he’s quiet until Louis turns around, facing him once again. “Thanks for the lovely wake-up view!”

And with a cheeky wink and a laugh he’s out the door, leaving Louis an embarrassed, blushing mess.

This time he shakes himself physically as well, before dropping the dirty clothes in Harry’s basket, supposing he won’t mind doing it on top of his own. Louis never did his own washing while they were still living together, if he’s being completely honest.

He walks into Harry’s small walk-in closet, where he’s got most of his clothes stored, and finds himself a pair of tight trackies Harry seems so fond of and a new t-shirt, as well as a hoodie. English summer is a tricky one, so Louis figures it’s probably safest with the hoodie as well.

Pulling on the trackies, he notes how they’re clearly just on the loose side on Harry, since they’re clinging tightly to Louis’ thighs. It looks fine, if not a bit silly. Not enough for him to change into something else though. Of course the legs are far too long for him, so he bends down and rolls up the cuffs like is custom with him anyway, before pulling on the plain light blue t-shirt, slightly too big for him, scoop neck allowing a healthy dose of his upper chest and the ‘it is what it is’ tattoo to be seen. He slings the black hoodie over one arm, opting to wait to put it on until it’s necessary. It’s got these white flecks in it that makes it look almost like it sparkles, and Louis seems to vaguely recall that he’s borrowed it from Harry before. So sue him, it’s comfy, just at that point of wear where it’s been used and washed so many times that it’s gotten soft, and lovely, and wonderful. And it smells just like Harry, which is a bigger comfort to Louis than it probably should be.

He doesn’t bother to do anything with his hair, leaving it to dry by itself. Instead he makes his way downstairs, moving into Harry’s kitchen where the younger man is standing by the stove, his bare back to Louis. He’s still only in his pants because he’s _Harry_ and honestly, Louis would probably have been more shocked if he’d put on clothes. Anyway, two can play Harry’s game, Louis decides, as he sneaks closer to him, careful not to alert him of his presence.

Harry seems to be entirely in his own world, watching the two pans on the hob like a hawk whilst humming one of the songs from their new album (Louis’ song, fuck, the one Louis wrote all by himself).

Louis doesn’t dwell on it, instead hooking his thumb into the elastic band of Harry’s underwear. He pulls it back and lets it snap Harry’s backside, prompting a startled squeak from him.

“Cooking in your pants, Styles?” Louis questions, moving to stand next to him. “Seems highly unsanitary, if you ask me.”

“Shit, Lou,” Harry breathes, holding his hand to his heart. “Bloody hell, you scared the shit out of me! Hasn’t your mother taught you not to sneak up on people?”

“Hasn’t your mother taught you to wear clothes?” Louis counters, as Harry fiddles with the food he’s cooking.

“Hasn’t your mother taught you to ask before you borrow?” Harry asks with a pointed look at Louis’ crotch.

Louis does not blush. He does _not_.

“Thought you’d appreciate the sleep, is all,” he says instead.

Harry softens instantly, goes from playful to fond in the beat of a heart.

“I don’t want you to ever have to ask. What’s mine is yours.”

Louis snorts. “I think that only goes for married people, love. We’re not going quite that far with this farce.”

Harry’s dimples deepen, “Counts for us too, I think. C’mere.” He reaches his arm around Louis’ shoulder and pulls him into himself, Louis ending up with his head nestled into Harry’s neck. He grunts at the impact, but adjusts himself so that he’s got his head gently resting on Harry’s shoulder, his hand placed on the bare skin of his lower back. If he briefly wonders how it’d feel to slide his hand lower, well, can you really blame him?

“Need me to do anything?” He asks after their semi-hug has lasted a few moments.

Harrys hums a bit in reply before indicating in the direction of one of his cupboards. “Toast the muffins, yeah?”

Louis nods and extracts himself from Harry. “Of course.” Giving Harry a meaningful glance he adds, “You ought to put on some clothes too.”

Harry grins in response. “In due time, dear.”

Louis shakes his head, perfectly aware of the fact that he won’t put on clothes before he deems it strictly necessary. They work in companionable silence as they somehow manage to finish breakfast, Louis toasting the muffins and Harry doing everything else. It’s an unfair division of work if anything, but Louis knows he doesn’t mind, and it’s probably for the best anyhow. Definitely for the best.

When it’s done and Harry’s plated it up, while Louis got a jug of juice from the fridge and made them tea, they sit down to eat in the kitchen. It’s delicious, easily Louis’ favourite breakfast, and the fact that Harry bothered to take his time to make it warms his heart, honestly.

“I was thinking,” Louis says eventually. He takes a sip from his mug, the tea having reached the perfect temperature for drinking. “That maybe we should swing by your mum’s on our way back? We could leave my mum’s on Wednesday afternoon and stop at my grandparents’ and Mark’s before driving to Holmes Chapel, and then stay until either Thursday evening or early Friday morning? That’d still give us enough time before we’re flying Friday afternoon, right?”

Harry’s quiet for a moment, simply watching him, and Louis nearly grows self-conscious, wonders if he overstepped some line he wasn’t even aware was there. But then Harry smiles this strange smile that he can’t quite place, though it seems genuine. He looks down briefly before meeting Louis’ eyes. “That’d—I’d really like that, Louis.”

Louis beams. “Great. That’s great, Haz. It’s been ages since I’ve seen them. Have you told them what’s been going on?”

Harry sighs and runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back. It’s unstyled, hanging across his forehead like the fringe he used to sport. It makes Louis oddly nostalgic for the younger Harry.

“Not my mum. Went to lunch with Gemma a few days ago and filled her in. I’ve, uh—well, I’ve been trying to stall with my mum, to be honest. I wasn’t really sure what she’d say, you know? And I thought I should try to tell her in person, anyhow.” He shrugs and turns back to his breakfast, eating the last of his eggs.

Louis is quiet for a moment, digesting the fact that Harry actually prioritized going with Louis to Doncaster, even though he knew it would mean that he couldn’t go see his own mum before they left for the States.

Louis is so, so fond of him.

“Ring her up, yeah? I’ll deal with the dishes.”

Harry raises his brow, but all Louis does is grin before shooing him out of the kitchen, calling a teasing “And put on some clothes!” after him.

He finishes his tea and rinses off the plates in the sink, before placing it all in the dishwasher and putting the butter and juice back in the fridge. When he’s done he moves to the living room, settling on the sofa and turning on the TV. There’s nothing on really, so he settles for reruns of some old HBO show, not really paying attention anyway.

By the time Harry makes his way into the living room, plopping down on the sofa next to him, Louis has pulled out his phone and is idly making his way through twitter.

“The pics of us from yesterday are up,” Louis says, looking up from his phone and noting that Harry has put on clothes finally.

“The ones from the street?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, fans are in a proper strut about it. Got about a million ‘are you and Harry together?’ mentions.”

“I suppose our tweets yesterday only added fuel to the fire.”

“Oh, absolutely. ‘S what it was supposed to do, wasn’t it, though?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, leaning back against the sofa and resting his head on the back of it.

A mischievous smile crosses Louis’ face. “May as well stir the pot some more, eh?”

A slow grin forms on Harry’s face. “What do you have in mind?”

Louis shrugs, “Nothing big. Another selfie, maybe? I’ll tweet it this time, assure them all that I’m quite fine and you are taking good care of me.”

Harry grins and scoots closer to Louis. “How do I look? Presentable, eh?”

His hair is up in a quiff again, a solid reminder that Harry is definitely not seventeen anymore.

“You look great, Haz.” Louis says honestly, making him beam. Louis is very conscious of the fact that his own hair is still half wet and lacks any kind of styling, so he scoots forward on the sofa and puts on Harry’s hoodie. He pushes his hair back and draws up the hood, keeping it fastened there, before turning to Harry and grinning. “Presentable?”

Harry shrugs, smile still present. “Was before, is now.”

“Thanks, pal. Solid compliment, that.”

Harry laughs and leans into Louis’ side as Louis rests his weight against the back of the sofa again. “Ready when you are.”

Louis hums and opens the camera app on his phone, trying to find a good angle. He’s not working out too well for him, though, so he draws back his arm and hands Harry the phone.

“Think you’ve got a better angle,” he states as Harry accepts the phone.

The younger boy nods before extracting his arm. He has the phone turned horizontally, and Louis is about to correct him, when the sound of the shutter goes off.

Harry gives Louis his hone back, and Louis checks the photo quickly before deeming it presentable.  He pulls up twitter on his phone, and makes quick work of tweeting something random before attaching the photo and releasing it to the world:

[ ](http://imgur.com/6jBxulF)

[ ](http://imgur.com/fEk09mR)

And from then on out they just sort of float from one activity to the next for the rest of the day, never making a conscious decision to spend it together, but doing so anyhow. It is always just so easy with Harry, Louis never has to worry about filling the silence or coming up with something to do, or constantly being on edge about presenting himself right. It’s Harry, and with him more than with anyone, Louis is allowed to be one hundred and ten percent himself. It’s liberating. Always. Still. The novelty will probably never wear off, to be honest. 

They only take a break in their day of doing absolutely nothing when their lawyers stop by with the contracts for their arrangement, needing their signatures. They get it over with as quickly as possible, trying not to linger too much on paragraphs about appearances, and renewal times and such.

When they’re nearing dinner time Louis finally has to come to terms with the fact that he really ought to return to his own house and pack up his stuff in order to be ready for tomorrow. When he voices this thought out loud though, the younger man frowns, biting his bottom lip before looking down, idly playing with a loose thread from one of the pillows occupying the sofa.

“I could come with you, if you’d like?” Harry says, voice quieter than normal, and then, before Louis has the time to form any kind of response, “I mean, it’d be nice, yeah? If you’re not sick of my company, that is. And it’d make it easier tomorrow, if I was already at your place, wouldn’t it? Since we’re leaving early, I mean.”

He looks like he’s about to continue for a moment, but Louis starts speaking before he gets the chance. “Sounds brilliant, Haz. Hurry up, go pack, we can pick up some takeaway on the way to my house.”

Harry’s answer is a beam before he’s bounding up the stairs, shouting at Louis over his shoulder, “Anything in particular I need to bring?”

Louis follows him at a more normal tempo, taking the stairs one at a time as he contemplates Harry’s question.

“Clothes. I don’t know. Toiletries. A book? Your purple jumper!”

“You’ve grown awfully fond of that jumper.”

Louis shrugs, not bothering to deny it. “It’s comfortable.”  

Harry shakes his head fondly but grabs it anyway and stuffs it into his bag.

When Harry’s pulling out underwear from his dresser, Louis is hit with an onset of sudden inspiration. “Bring one of your headscarves too!”

Confused, Harry looks back at him over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

Louis shrugs. “I like them on you, and you haven’t worn one in months, years, lifetimes!”

Harry laughs and opens the next drawer, pulling out a scarf and holding it out to Louis.

“Tie it in?”

Louis nods mutely and steps up behind Harry, taking the scarf from his outstretched hand. They used to do this sometimes, have Louis do Harry’s hair. Usually when he was stressed out or high strung, it’d always seemed to calm him down, one run through of Louis’ hand in his hair sending him into a blissful haze.

He runs his hands through Harry’s quickly put up quiff, which has lost its grandeur somewhat during the day. When he deems it sufficiently ready (and Harry sufficiently tactile, his shoulders slumped as he seems to fight an eternal battle not to sink back into Louis), he ties the scarf into Harry’s curls like he’s done so many times before. It’s been years since he’s done it last, but it’s like riding a bike, muscle memory, something that just sits in his fingers to the degree where it demands no thought or proper effort.

He spins Harry around so he’s facing him and fusses over the curls framing his face. And it’s stupid, because they’re just going back to Louis’ and no one is going to see them, but it’s nice. It’s comforting, and comfortable, and nice.  

“There.” Louis says as he’s done, giving one of his curls one last tug, harder than necessary, probably. Harry’s eyes flutter, and, well, interesting.

“Thanks.” Harry says, voice rough as though it hasn’t been used in a while. Louis nods and steps back, places himself on Harry’s bed as he get the last things he needs stuffed into the bag. Once he’s packed all that Louis assumes he deems necessary, he slings the bag over his shoulder and nods at Louis.

“Done.” He states. “Let’s go yeah, I’m starving.”

Being very hungry himself, Louis is extraordinarily on board with that idea.

 

They pop by a pub near Louis’ place and bring back enough fish and chips to feed half an army, devouring it as soon as they step foot in Louis’ kitchen as though they haven’t been fed in years. By the time they’re done, Louis is suggesting they watch a film while Harry looks at him meaningfully and insists that he needs to pack first.

Louis agrees reluctantly, knowing that Harry’s got a point. It ends up being Harry who packs up most of his stuff anyway.

Once both of their bags are packed and ready for departure, they get ready for bed and climb into Louis’, putting on a film that Louis only gets halfway through before he’s asleep. He’s asleep by ten, and he doesn’t think his sleep pattern has been this normal since he joined One Direction.

 

The next morning passes in a blur of getting ready and not forgetting anything, before they’re on the road by eight o’clock. Harry tells him he’s scheduled for Grimshaw to call at nine o’clock. Louis hums in recognition, but otherwise stays quiet and focuses on driving. They’ve left Harry’s car at Louis’ place and are sitting comfortably beside each other listening, ironically, to the Radio 1 Breakfast Show.

Louis has always liked driving a lot, finding the mechanical motions of pushing the pedals and shifting the gear stick oddly therapeutic. It can be such a monotonous task, driving, at least once you’re out of the hassle of London, but it also always provides such a brilliant opportunity for thinking, just allowing your thoughts to wander, and having the time and quiet to ponder the things that have been weighing down on you. Now, Louis has the time to think about what he’s going to tell his family, something he’d wholly avoided thinking about ever since he realised that they’d be _public_ , meaning everyone and their grandma would know, meaning his family would know, meaning _fuck_.    

He gets lost in his own mind, entirely unaware of what Harry’s doing next to him as his focus is on driving and his thoughts on his family. He doesn’t even consider how much time has passed, until he’s soon startled by the sound of Harry’s phone going off.

“That’s Grimmy,” Harry says, smiling oddly at him. “I’m gonna put him on speaker, yeah?”

Louis only manages to nod before Harry’s turned off the radio and is pushing the screen of his iPhone.

“Hello?” Harry says, and Louis concentrates on driving. Just on driving, yes. Important that, keeping your eyes on the road etc. etc.

“Hullo Harold, dear,” comes Nick’s reply through the speaker. Louis is cool, so cool – totally unbothered really, he should get a fucking prize for how unbothered he is. _Harold_ , Jesus. “You’re on speaker here, so say hi to all our listeners.”

Even without looking at him Louis can tell Harry’s smiling that big dimply smile, and _so what_.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” He says, dragging out the word in that way that has come to be incarnated Harry to Louis.

“So what are you up to this fine Tuesday morning, if we may ask?”

“Um,” Harry says, “yeah, um, I’m on the road, actually.”

“Talking and driving, my my, what a bad example you lead. Don’t do that at home kids!”

Louis can see Harry shaking his head out of the corner of his eyes, smile fond, before replying, “I’m not the one driving, don’t worry. Strapped safely into the passenger seat, me. Seatbelt on, very important.”

“Indeed it is. Good boy! Where to then?” Grimmy asks, and Louis can hear some sort of commotion coming from his end, but it’s too vague to make out what it is. He is not bothered by their friendly banter or pet names. He’s not. He’s known for a long time now that Harry was probably as close to Nick as he was to Louis himself, and while it sucks, Louis is not so much a five-year old that he doesn’t know that he has no right to be mad or resent Harry for it. Really he should just be glad Harry’s kept him in his life at all.

“I’m going up north actually, yeah.” Harry answers, putting a stop to Louis’ pity-party. He chances a look at Harry, and finds him smiling softly at him, eyes locked on Louis.

“Up north, eh?” Grimmy asks, and Louis can practically hear his smirk through the speaker. That’s totally a thing, hearing smirks. “Going to visit the family?”

“Uhm,” Harry says, hesitating just a second too long. Whoever said he wasn’t a good actor must have never seen him in action like this. It’s fucking flawless as far as being convincing goes. “Something like that, yeah.”

Louis is startled out of listening to Harry and Grimmy when the car in front of them suddenly brakes hard, forcing Louis to do the same in order to avoid crashing into them. “What the fuck?” Louis mutters, breathing in deep to settle his wildly beating heart.

“Everything okay?” Louis hears Grimmy ask, as they’re moving towards regular speed again.

“Yeah,” Harry says, somewhat breathless. Louis doesn’t think it transfers to the radio though, which is good, yeah. Harry’s squeezes Louis’ thigh, his broad hand sprawled across it, and what? When, what, why? Louis doesn’t recall Harry placing it there, but he keeps it resting on his thigh, and he can’t say he minds. It’s childish, but it’s sort of nice that’s Harry’s mind is on him, even when he’s speaking with Grimmy.

Louis is so awfully selfish when it comes to Harry. Would prefer to have him all to himself, all the time. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, when he’d had to come to terms with the fact that Harry was the kind of person who had many good friends, many best friends. Louis had had a monopoly on Harry’s affections for so long, and when Grimmy had come along – new and exciting and older and gay – Harry had been instantly charmed. It wasn’t that he’d ever left Louis behind; it was just more that he sort of divided himself. There was Louis’ Harry, and then there was the Harry who hung out with all his cool, cool friends. Louis couldn’t always unite the two, and it had bothered him, had made him question if maybe he was the one who was holding Harry back, who was forcing him to be a version of himself that was no longer there. Keeping him a prisoner in the past.

He had been too scared of what he might find out if he asked back then, so he’d never dared to. Content somewhat to keep Harry close for as long as he got to. With time he’d realized that maybe he had been flawed in his way of thinking, but he’d still not dared to broach the topic with Harry, in light of recent event, Louis feels maybe he should reconsider.   

“The car in front of us just hit the brakes out of nowhere, so Lo- _we_ had to do a bit of emergency braking. No worries, all good.”

And, just—Harry’s near slip, fucking brilliant. Couldn’t have been better if they’d actually planned and rehearsed it. Clever, clever boy. Louis is proud, kind of.

Louis puts his full attention on driving, vaguely aware of Harry telling Nick about their upcoming album, tour, and the performance at the TCAs; promo stuff. They wrap it up soon enough, and Harry’s turns his attention to Louis.

“How was that?” Louis doesn’t turn towards him, but he knows with a hundred percent certainty that Harry’s biting his lower lip.

Louis’ face splits into a grin. “Fucking brilliant,” he says, eyes still on the road. “So fucking brilliant, love. Whoever said you were a terrible actor should hear that and eats his own words.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” Harry’s phone alerts them that he’s gotten a text message, and it’s a moment before Harry speaks again. “It’s from Grimmy. Tells me that I should be more careful if I don’t want people to know I’m with you. Apparently Twitter and Tumblr are blowing up with speculation that I was going to say your name, and that it was your voice that was heard in the background.”

Louis finds himself smiling, satisfied. “Good.”

“Yeah, Grimmy wants to know what the deal is.”

“You haven’t told him?” Louis asks, honestly surprised. He’d have thought Harry would have divulged the details of their arrangement to Grimmy ages ago.

“No.” Harry says, voice oddly quiet. “I was kinda of thinking maybe I’d not?” It comes out as a question, though Louis suspects it wasn’t supposed to.

“Oh.” Is all he can think to say at first. “Well, it’s up to you. But I wouldn’t be annoyed. Like, if you wanted to tell him. He’s your best friend, I get that. I get why you’d want him to know.” Stopping at a red light, Louis turns his head to face Harry.

“What?” The younger man asks, seeming honestly surprised. “Grimmy’s not my best friend. I mean, we’re good friends, sure, but. Like, I have plenty of good friends. But. _Louis_. _You’re_ my best friend. You’ve always been my best friend.”

Oh. _Oh._

And it’s not that it’s a surprise. Not really. It’s more that he’s just always sort of figured that they shared that, him and Grimmy.  

“ _Louis._ You must have known that. Grimmy, it’s—we’ve… It’s never been the same as it is with us.”

And, wow, that plants wholly unpleasant new images in Louis’ mind because, not the same. _Not the same._ What does that even _mean?_ And suddenly thoughts that he’d passed off as ridiculous ages ago seem totally plausible. Were Harry and Grimmy ever more than friends? _Are_ they more than friends? No, at least the last one isn’t possible, he wouldn’t be here with Harry right now if it were. But before? _Why not?_   

The words are out of his mouth before he even has the time to contemplate them, and as is well known, once it’s out there, there’s no taking it back.

“Have you and Grimmy ever… you know? I mean, were you ever more?” Yeah. Louis kind of wouldn’t mind if the ground opened up and swallowed him right about now.

“No! Jesus, Lou, I would’ve told you if we were, like, I’d never keep something like that from you!” And now you’re keeping this from Grimmy, Louis thinks but doesn’t say. It’s not the same though, Louis reminds himself, because they aren’t in a relationship, him and Harry. Pretend. It’s all just pretend. Not even that. Right now it’s really just the build-up to the pretence. Fuck.

“I know he wanted to.” Harry continues, and, well, honestly Louis could have told him that. It had been painstakingly obvious how much Grimshaw had wanted Harry. How they managed to be friends despite that was beyond him. “But I... I guess I was never there, I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never been interested in him that way. Grimmy’s _lovely_ , but I-- He always said it was because I was never emotionally available, and I suppose that’s not all wrong.” The last part comes out as though it was just for laughs, but something tells Louis that he’s only half joking. Fuck if it makes any sense to Louis though.

A car honks the horn behind them, startling Louis back to reality. Right. Driving. Green means go and all that. Right.

He gets the car moving again, trying to make sense of all that’s just been said between them. One thing stands out.

“You’re my best friend too, you know.” Louis says matter-of-factly. It sounds so childish, this emphasis on friends and good friends and _best_ friends, but the truth is undeniable. “My very best, Harry. Like, sometimes it seems like a wholly inadequate way of describing what you are. My favourite person.”

Next thing he feels is Harry’s lips on the place his upper arm meets his shoulder. The contact lingers for a moment before Harry pulls back slightly, moves to rest his forehead against it, and finally, pulls back entirely.

“This isn’t gonna be that bad, is it?” Harry asks quietly.

“Not bad at all.” Louis smiles and reaches out his hand, blindly groping for Harry’s. Upon finding it, he intertwines their fingers.

They stay like that for the rest of the drive.

 

It’s a bit more than a three hour drive, and they drive it without stopping, so when they pull up in Louis’ mother’s driveway at half eleven, his legs and back feel cramped. It’s absolutely amazing to stretch them, and he lets out a sound of satisfaction as he stretches his entire body, swaying his back.

The door to the house swings open to reveal his mother, just as he and Harry are pulling their bags out of the boot of the car.

“Louis!” She exclaims, throwing her arms wide, smile big on her face. “Harry!”

“Hello, Jay.” Harry smiles as he picks up both his and Louis’ bags and makes his way to her. Louis watches the exchange from beside the car, transfixed by the sight of his mum and Harry clutching each other tightly.

When he finally makes his way to them, his mum is still holding Harry tightly against her, swaying slightly. She finally draws back, holding him at arms length and taking in his appearance.

“My God,” Jay says, eyes seeming suspiciously bright. “Look at you, dear. So grown up. I still remember when you were a curly little boy. Shorter than Louis, can you imagine?”

Louis huffs. “Nice to know you still remember that I exist at least. Don’t I get a hug and a ‘hi’?” He’s smiling though, which he thinks probably somewhat diminishes his insulted act.

“’Course you do, love.” His mother smiles, drawing him into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you.” She kisses his cheek before drawing all the way back and continuing, “But I haven’t seen Harry properly in, oh, _years_. Anyway, it’s lovely to have you both here. Come on in, the girls are upstairs, though I doubt they’ll have heard you arrive with the volume of the music they insist on blasting day in and day out.”

“It’s fine.” Louis says, as he makes his way into the house after Harry and his mum. “We need to talk to you first anyhow, without the girls overhearing.”

Jay eyes them with this odd look on her face as they take off their shoes and Harry sets down their bags by the stairs. “Okay,” she says, nodding her head in affirmation, “Right. We’ll go into the TV room, yeah?”

Louis nods and follows his mum as she moves further into the house. Harry’s walking behind him, and he feels his hand come to rest on his shoulder, squeezing slightly. He’s suddenly hit by how he’s just so, so grateful that Harry offered to come with him, he doesn’t know how he’d do this without him.

Once they’re all seated – Jay across from Harry and Louis, who’re sitting next to each other – Louis finds that he doesn’t even know where to start, despite the many hours he’s spent contemplating what to say.

“So,” Jay finally breaks the ice. “I assume there’s a reason you’ve brought Harry, love?” She smiles at Louis kindly, and he feels some of the dread he’s been feeling leave his body. This is his mum they’re talking about, she’s never been anything but supportive, and she’s not going to be anything but either.

Louis feels Harry’s hand rest on the middle of his back, stroking softly. He smiles at his mum. “Well, um, we’re sort of doing what I swore I’d never do after the whole Eleanor thing, um…” He trails off, unsure how to continue, aware of what a shit job he’s doing of explaining.

“They’ve suggested we pretend to be in a relationship for publicity reasons.” Harry says, his hand on Louis’ back a grounding presence. “And we know it’s not ideal, but, well, we really need all the PR we can get. So we agreed to do it.”

Jay looks between them for a moment, seemingly stunned by what they’re saying. “So what you’re saying,” she starts slowly, “Is that you’ll be pretending to be in a relationship? The two of you. And that’s what the last few weeks have been a prelude to?”

“Yeah,” Louis says softly, quietly. “Yeah. Mum, I know it’s not ideal, I know things became really bad with the Eleanor situation towards the end, but it’s not the same, I promise. It’s not nearly the same with Harry. And coming out hasn’t really been anything I’ve been over the moon about doing, but I think, you know, I don’t wanna hide anymore. And I want my sisters to know who I am. I want… I don’t want to lie about who I am anymore, mum.”

“Okay.” Jay reaches across the gap between them and takes Louis’ hand in her own. “Of course, poppet, I’ll support you no matter what. I think it’s lovely that you’ll have each other through this, you and Harry. But love, I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell the girls, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, mum. I know we can’t tell the girls that it’s all a sham, but, well, like this, that I’m gay, it’s such a massive part of who I am that they don’t know, and I…” He trails off, exhausted suddenly.

“Okay, okay, Boo. I get that. Anything I can do to help you, just say so. If you need me to tweet Harry incessantly or, I don’t know, anything. Just say the word, yeah. And Harry, if there’s anything you need from us, just let me know. And feel at home while you’re here, yeah? I know it’s a long time since you’ve been here, and it must be odd with the girls, but let me know if there’s anything, yeah? I’m gonna tell the girls you’re here, so you have a moment to yourselves before that.” She gets up, and before she moves to leave the room she hugs the both of them close to her chest again. Louis would deny it in any interview, but being in his mother’s arms is still so, so comforting, even after nearly twenty-five years of living.

She stops when she reaches the door and turns around. “Louis,” her voice is quiet, sad. “I’m sorry it has to be like this. Sorry you can never just be one hundred percent true about who you are here. I’m sorry.” And before Louis has time to reassure her that’s she’s got nothing to feel sorry for, that it’s not her fault, before he can even say _anything,_ she’s out of the door.

Louis sags against Harry, leaning all his weight on him and tugging his head into his neck. Harry puts his arms around him, tugs him close, close, closer. It’s not the same as being in his mother’s arms, can never be compared, but it’s still good, and safe, and comforting. It’s home.

You shouldn’t make a person your home, his mum once told him, and Louis thinks that it’s typical of him to have ended up doing so anyway, never good at taking orders no matter the circumstances. So typical of him not only to make a home out of a person, but to make a home out of a friend. Someone who will always be there, but not always be _there_. Not physically. Louis is an idiot, but what else is new.

“Ready to face your sisters?” Harry asks, his voice naught but a whisper, like speaking above will shatter the tranquillity they’ve created between them.

“No.” Louis says honestly, “How are we even going to break this to them? Why didn’t we talk about this? What am I going to even _say?_ ”

Harry sneaks his arm between them, taking Louis’ hand in his. “Showing rather than telling, maybe?”

Louis huffs out a laugh against Harry’s collarbone. “It’s a place to start, I suppose.” He says. “C’mon, we better get out there.”

They don’t let go of each other’s hands as they make their way to face Louis’ siblings.

Lottie is the first to spot them, faltering in her greeting as she sees their clasped hands.

Taking in a deep breath Louis readies himself, clutching Harry’s hand impossibly tight, his palm sweaty and gross against Harry’s. He doesn’t complain, the saint.

“Girls,” he says, relieved that his voice is at least steady. Like ripping off a plaster, he reminds himself. Okay. Here goes nothing. “I’d like to introduce you to Harry. My boyfriend.”

The silence that follows borders on ridiculous. It seems that he’s stunned the Tomlinsons into silence, and, well, it’s a little bit impressive that. Louis has nothing if not a flair for dramatic timing.

Lottie soon recovers enough to turn around, grab her jacket, and walk out of the door.

So maybe Louis could have dealt with that one a bit better.

Harry squeezes Louis’ hand again, before addressing Jay. “Do you mind if I--“ he inclines his head towards the front door where Lottie just disappeared. She shakes her head, and Harry plants a kiss on Louis’ temple before letting go of his hand and setting off after Lottie.

Once he’s out of the door, Louis turn his attention back to his sisters – Fizzie, Daisy, and Phoebe are standing there, Doris and Ernest not in sight.

“Is that you coming out to us, Louis?” Fizzie asks, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

“Um,” Louis stammers, scratching the nape of his neck like a bloody cartoon figure. “Yes?” 

She shakes her head, but steps closer to him nonetheless, clutching him tightly to her chest. He sinks into the hug, holding her tightly against him and leaning his head on top of hers. Fuck. Words cannot describe how much he needed this. Soon he’s enveloped by two pairs of small arms, one on each side of him, clutching him close. He moves his hands from around Fizzie to hold each of the twins and locks eyes with his mother. She shakes her head at him, but the smile on her face in impossible to mistake. Louis thinks he might even spot tears in her eyes, but he’s sure she’d deny that within an inch of her life, if he commented on it.

The twins are too young to understand, he knows, don’t remember how it had been with Eleanor, how vehemently he’d had to deny gay rumours, rumours of him and Harry. They would stand here hugging him under all circumstances. But Fizzie, she could be just as angry as Lottie, would have every right to be just as angry as Lottie. It’d make sense. So much sense. But she’s here, God, she’s here. And that means so, so much.

“Daisy, Pheebs, how about helping me make a snack for when Harry and Lottie get back, yeah?” His mum interrupts their mini cuddle, and Louis knows she’s giving him time to talk to Fizzie alone.

The twins agree eagerly, at that age where doing everything in the kitchen is fun fun fun.

“Can we bake a cake?” Daisy asks excitedly, untangling herself from Louis.

“Chocolate is Harry’s favourite.” Louis pipes in, a small smile on his lips.

“Chocolate is your favourite, you dunce.” Fizzie grins, and smacks his shoulder. It’s _great_.

“So?” He laughs. “Chocolate is a lot of people’s favourite. Probably like most people in the world’s favourite, squirt.”

Jay shakes her head. “Come on, girls. We’ll bake a carrot cake, I seem to remember Harry had quite a fondness for that one.” She smirks at Louis, and she’s _right_ , but she’s also an evil, evil woman.

“Come on.” Fizzie says, tugging Louis in the direction of the stairs. They don’t speak as they climb them or as they’re making their way down the hall. After entering Fizzie’s room, Louis sits himself down on her bed and waits for her to talk.

“Were you always together?” She finally asks, after the two of them have sat next to each other in silence for several moments. “Back then, I mean. Larry Stylinson and all that, was it all true? I mean, I’ve read their masterposts and stuff, and it makes _sense_ , Lou. It _does_. Like the tattoos and all these weird coincidences, and Eleanor. Like, I loved Eleanor, and I don’t think I could see it back then, but reading about it later, it made sense what they said. It did seem odd, the way you were. So was it—were you? Like, a couple. All these years?”

“No.” Louis says, shaking his head. “No. We weren’t. I—I see where you’re coming from, Fizz, I do. I mean, I get that it makes sense, I’m not stupid. Harry and I have always been closer than close, but not like that. We got together bit more than a year ago. And I know it’s shit of me not telling you before now, but I just… I wanted to know that we were solid first, you know. Harry and I needed time to figure out who we were as a couple, how it differed and how it was the same as being best friends.” Louis doesn’t know where all of this is coming from, but Fizzie seems to be buying it and Louis is simultaneously relieved and feeling like the world’s biggest arsehole at the same time. “We’re coming out soon. Properly. Officially. Like to the whole world, really being together, the whole deal. So, yeah, I wanted you guys to know first, but I didn’t know how to tell you, you know?”

“I’m happy for you.” Fizzie says, looking at him earnestly. “You seem happy, so I’m glad you don’t have to hide this anymore from us, or from anyone.”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, “me too.” He’s surprised to find that he has come to mean it.

“What about Eleanor? Were you ever together?”

“For a couple of months, yeah,” Louis says, honestly. “Like, for the first four months we were in a genuine relationship, but then it turned into a PR-stunt pretty quickly after that. I’m not—I’m gay, Fizz, and, like, it took me a long time to come to terms with that, it really did, but I’m not going to hide it anymore, so you deserve to know.”

“I’m glad you told me.” She says, turning to hug Louis tight. “It always felt a bit like you were holding yourself back, like we knew you, but we didn’t really know you at all.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells her, and he _is_.

“It’s okay.” Quiet. “We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah. We are.”

Louis doesn’t know how long they stay like that, cuddling. All he knows is that he’s never felt this close to Fizzie before. Not since he left home for the X Factor all those years ago.

They don’t separate until they spot Harry and Lottie standing in the door. Louis’ stomach turns into knots upon seeing the tear tracks on his sister’s face.

“Hey, Harry,” Fizzie says, getting up from the bed as he and Lottie step into the room, “Wanna go look at baby photos of Louis?”

Harry grins, easy and relaxed; like the situation isn’t so fucking tense you could cut it with a blunt knife. “There’s literally nothing I want more, love.” He tells her as he’s all the way into the room, Lottie still lingering near the door. He turns himself to Louis, his face hidden from sight of any of the girls. He is smiling softly, mouths an ‘it’s okay’ to him, and Louis loves him so fucking much. ‘Thank you’ he mouths back, and Harry smiles again, leans into him. For a second Louis thinks he’ll really kiss him, and, to be honest, he’s not too sure he’d mind all that much. Instead, he kisses the corner of Louis’ mouth.

“C’mon.” Harry says as he draws back from him, avoiding making direct eye contact with him. He grins brightly at Fizzie and slings his arms around her shoulders. “Those baby photos, eh? Is he naked?”

Fizzie’s bright laugh follows them out until it’s only Louis and Lottie left.  

For a moment they’re both silent.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Lottie finally asks. “Didn’t you trust me? I _defended_ you, Louis. All those people telling El that you weren’t real, I defended you and it turns out they were right all along. _Why?_ Why didn’t you trust me? Why couldn’t I know?”

Louis is fucking broken. Shattered into a million pieces, surely. Certainly it can’t be possible to feel as awful as Louis does right now and still be whole.

“ _I’m sorry!_ ” Heartfelt. Honest. “You were just. Lottie. You were _so young_. And I was _so confused_. I could barely admit it to myself or mum. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you, Lots. I don’t know how to make it better, I don’t know. I just. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, you have to believe that. I just didn’t want to include you in the lie. I didn’t want to force you to lie, to constantly be on your guard about what you were saying. Sometimes ignorance _is_ bliss, Lottie. I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to tell you. I wish there was something I could tell you to make it better. And maybe I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like this, but I just, I didn’t know how else to say it.”

_And I’m lying to you right now. Doing the exact same as I did with Eleanor. I should tell you everything, I should, but I can’t._

Next thing he knows he’s got an armful of Lottie.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles into his neck. “I shouldn’t have run out like that… I was just surprised and hurt. But I’m happy for you, Louis. Really. And you’re lucky to have Harry, he’s such a nice guy.”

“Yeah,” Louis laughs, holding her close. See if he ever lets her go again, ha. They’ll have to pry them apart with a crowbar if Louis’ got any say in it. “Tell me about it.”

Lottie laughs into his shoulder. “You’re really good together.”

“Thank you,” Louis breathes, and the sting of his current betrayal is only a dull pain. “I love you lots and lots, Lots.”

He can feel her shake her head. “You’re an idiot. But I love you too.”

And just… what’s that feeling? Relief. Relief is definitely what’s coursing through Louis right about now. Because, not that he’d expected any of them to _stop_ , but… yeah, he’s a little bit relieved.

 

Later that day, after cake and conversation, after filling in Dan and fawning over Doris and Ernest, after dinner and its usual commotion, they’re all sitting in the living room, a film playing on the telly, though few are actually watching.

Louis and Harry are in the big armchair, Louis sitting in Harry’s lap, curled into him. They’ve done an extraordinary job at playing the couple so far, if Louis has to say so himself. Like, not to brag or anything, but if he had become a drama teacher, he’d definitely have given them an A+. Double plus. Triple plus. All the pluses really.

One by one, Louis’ family excuses themselves to go to bed, until it’s just him and Harry remaining.

“Thank you.” Louis mutters, pressing his lips to the soft skin where Harry’s neck connects with his shoulder. “I don’t know what you told Lottie, but thank you.”

“I didn’t… I just told her the truth, really. She was just hurt. And there’s nothing you need to thank me for.”

“Thank you.”

Harry shakes his head in fond exasperation. “You’re welcome.” Quiet. “Was… was it okay?”

Louis lifts his head, peering up at him. “Was what okay?”

“The—well, it’d be a bit of a cop-out to call it a kiss, but… in Fizzie’s room, was that okay? I didn’t want to, like, overstep any borders. I know we haven’t really talked about it. The physical contact, I mean.”

“Don’t be stupid, Haz. Of course it was all right. And, like, it’s probably something we should talk about, right? Those aspects. Because it’s all fine and stuff with the touching and the holding hands and being close, because that’s what we’ve always done, but, yeah. We should talk about kissing and stuff, probably.”

“Kissing and stuff?” Harry questions, smirk present on his face.

Louis groans, before dipping down and biting Harry’s collarbone. Hard.

Harry lets out a squeak of surprise and then a hiss.

Louis pulls back, smirk now on his face, before he shifts a bit in Harry’s lap, trying to get back into a comfortable position.

“Don’t.” Harry says, warns. He clutches Louis’ hip to warn him, and, stilling, Louis looks up at him, an eyebrow raised in question. He takes in the sight of Harry in front of him, who is slightly flushed, pupils wide, and puts two and two together.

He ghosts his thumbs over the faint bite mark on Harry’s collarbone and smiles softly. “Like it rough, do you?”

“We’re not talking about this, Louis.”

“Thought we were talking about ‘kissing and stuff’?” Louis quotes.

“Doubt they’ll ask us to shag in public or make a porno, mate. I don’t think it’s necessary to discuss our preferences in bed.” And, oh, Louis realises, Harry’s is embarrassed. For as much as he’s open and unashamed, this is apparently a part of himself that he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing with anyone, not even Louis. It’s suddenly so, so important to let him know that he’s got nothing to be ashamed of.

“Hey,” he says, tilting Harry’s head, forcing the younger man to look him in the eyes. “No judgement here, love. I like plenty of rough stuff in bed. I’m all for a little biting. Hell, anyone who’s not is totally missing out.”

Harry smiles at that, laughs a little, rests his forehead against Louis’. “Let’s stick to talk about kissing for now, eh?”

“Well,” Louis says, deciding to throw caution to the wind. “It’s not really going to be our first, is it?”

Harry’s quiet for several moments, eyes wide and looking straight into Louis’. “What? I—You-- I didn’t think you remembered that.” He says finally, whispers.

“I lied.”

“I— _why?_ ”

Louis smiles wryly. “You were a boy, Harry. I don’t know if you recall, but I had a bit of a hard time coming to terms with the fact that boys are the gender I’d prefer to kiss.”

Harry shakes his head, seeming almost in a daze. “I can’t believe you remember. Fuck. Louis, you absolute _arse_. Here I’ve been walking around for years feeling – like, _years_ , Lou! - all weird about the fact that we’ve kissed and you didn’t even remember. Shit.”

Louis laughs, and it’s maybe not the best reaction, but how could he _not_. Everything about them is just ridiculous. It doesn’t take long for Harry to join in.

“I think we should just wing it,” Louis says eventually, once their laughter has subsided. “Like, the kissing. We don’t want it to seem staged, so just whenever it feels like a natural moment for it, yeah? We’ve got time before it’s necessary, anyhow.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Yeah, that sounds fine, like. Yeah, fine.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, nuzzling into Harry’s embrace. “How many points of manliness would I lose if I asked you to carry me to bed now?”

Harry laughs, quiet and private like it’s only for Louis. “Dunno, love. Are you sure I can even carry you?”

That earns Harry a slap on the shoulder. “Are you calling me fat, Styles?”

Louis can feel how Harry’s chuckle vibrate in his chest. It’s oddly comforting. “I wouldn’t dare. C’mon.” And with that he gets up with Louis in his arms, demonstrating far more grace than Louis had ever thought he was capable of possessing.

He may or may not let out a squeak of surprise, the jury’s still out on that one.

“Hey!” He protests as Harry starts walking towards the stairs.

“Hmm,” Harry contemplates. “No. Definitely not fat. Perfect size I’d say, actually.”

Louis laughs into his shoulder. “You’re an idiot,” he tells Harry, one hundred percent truthful. “Now put me down before you ruin your back, you oaf.”

Harry complies and places him gently on the first step of the stairs, causing them to stand eye-to-eye.

“No,” Harry says, grinning, “Still every bit as manly as before.”

It takes Louis a moment to catch on before he finds himself grinning. “It’s the beard, isn’t it?” he asks, scratching his chin where the week worth of stubble sits.

“Probably, yeah,” Harry admits, running his thumb over Louis’ chin. “I like the beard.”

“Yeah? Been thinking maybe I should get to shaving, possibly cut my hair, yeah? Stop looking like a jobless hobo.”

Harry laugh, quiet and genuine, aware of Louis’ family sleeping around them. “I like you clean-shaven as well. Like, well, reminds me a bit of 18-year old Louis, you know? Makes me kinda nostalgic.”

Louis gasps, mock offended. “Are you saying you liked younger me better?!”

Harry smiles, obviously non-deterred by Louis’ theatrics, “I like every version of you. And I like every amount of beard and every hair length, but…” he trails off, biting his lip and looking at Louis with wide innocent eyes. Honestly, he looks a bit like a puppy, he thinks.

“Go on, Haz. I want your opinion.”

“Well, when it’s longer than it is now, yeah? Like it was in late 2013, when Lou did that thing where she sort of flipped some of your hair in that half-quiff thing, you know?”

Louis grins, “My hot dad hair.”

“What?”

“That’s what the Tumblr girls named the hairstyle. Hot dad hair.”

Harry laughs. “Well, pretty fitting I’ll say. It was hot. So that, yeah, and later too. Like during our break where it got really long. The hairband. Yeah, I liked that.”

“Uh-huh? Well, maybe I won’t cut it then.”

“Oh, but I like it short too, Lou, like. I—“

“Harry,” Louis cuts him off, laughing. “I know what you meant, yeah? I liked it longer too. I kinda miss it like that. And it’s nearly there, a few months and I’ll be back to my twenty-two year old prime, yes?”

Harry grins. “So twenty-two is the prime, yeah?”

Louis swats him. “Cheeky bastard.” He mutters and turns around to climb up the stairs.

“You looooove me!” Harry sing-songs from behind him.

“Can’t prove a thing.”

 

The next morning Jay asks Louis to go to the bakery to pick up some bread for breakfast, and Harry volunteers to tag along, holding out his headscarf to Louis with a big grin. Louis takes it and ties it into his hair, kind of liking this ritual they seem to have established with it. Very comforting. Lottie and Fizzie coo at them when they see Louis fixing Harry’s hair, and he flips them off in retaliation. Jay is not impressed to say the least, hurrying a laughing Louis and a sheepish looking Harry out of the door, out into the real world. Together.

They’d checked Tumblr and twitter the night before, once they’d tucked themselves into the bed in the guest room, and seen that there was avid speculation that they were both in Doncaster, based on Harry’s radio interview, the fact that he was now MIA, and the proof that Louis was home and not in London, which both Fizzie and Lottie had tweeted about, though neither mentioned Harry. They’d gotten a text from Simon Jones this morning, telling them to keep up the good work (ha!) and encouraging them to confirm that they were together in a way that didn’t seem like they were trying to call too much attention to it. No pap excursion or anything, but just something natural, sort of private.

It is still fairly early, as they make their way down towards the bakery. The streets are practically deserted, the two of them so far only having met an old lady walking her dog. They walk beside each other in companionable silence, both content to just breathe in the fresh morning air and let their thoughts wander.

“Are you nervous?” Harry asks when they turn the corner, walking onto the street where the bakery is. “About Sunday, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Louis says quietly. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But, like, maybe more of a good nervous than a bad? Like sort of oddly excited. It really helped telling the girls and stuff, like I feel more ready now.”

“Me too. Like. Yeah, excited and nervous. I’m, yeah. It’s gonna be kind of nice to get it over with, yes. Like, once it’s out there. Gonna be good.”

“I hope so.” Louis agrees as he holds the door to the bakery open for Harry, effectively cutting off their conversation. Together they peruse the display, Harry offering his expert commentary on the different choices, the boy still fond of his time at the bakery.

Once they’ve chosen what they’d like to have, the old lady behind the counter puts it in paper bags for them and Louis pays her. Just as he’s about to say goodbye and turn around, she offers him a crooked smile.

“My granddaughter is a big fan, she lives up in Manchester. I couldn’t trouble the two of you for an autograph, could I? It’d make her very happy.”

Harry smiles big and genuine. “Of course. Where do you want it?”

The lady produces a piece of paper and a pen for them, tells them her granddaughter’s name, and Harry and Louis proceed to sign the paper, adding a small message for the girl. The lady thanks them profusely, but they brush her off, insisting it was nothing. They make their way back to Louis’ family’s house and are greeted with four pair of grabby hands simultaneously reaching for the bread they’re carrying, seemingly having come to the consensus that Harry and Louis were taking too long.   

Breakfast is a loud affair, and Louis can’t remember having felt this comfortable at home for a long, long time. Despite having Harry next to him and having to pretend they’re in a relationship, he feels so, so free. Like he can finally be one hundred percent himself. He’s surrounded by laughter and his family who still love him. Always. And he’s got Harry sitting next to him, doting on Doris who’s on the other side of him, distractedly touching Louis every now and then, stealing food from his plate and pulling faces at Ernest. It seems so natural, like he really belongs here with them all. Louis thinks that somehow, despite it all, he does.

After breakfast, Louis takes Ernest outside, insisting on some male brotherly bonding in the backyard. It’s a bit ridiculous, Ernie isn’t even three years old yet, but it’s nice nonetheless, sitting on the grass in the yard, rolling a small football between the two of them and telling Ernie stories that leave him a giggling mess. He doesn’t see his sibling nearly as often as he’d like.

Some time into Louis and Ernie’s wannabe game of football – Louis is totally trying to groom him into a football lover, it’s all about getting an early start – the girls join him, leaving only Jay and Harry in the house, Dan having left for work hours before. When he inquires with Lottie about Harry’s whereabouts, he’s told that he’s helping their mum make lunch.

When he turns his attention back to his little brother, he’s met with Ernie’s small fists clutching a handful of grass and dirt in each. Louis lets out a startled laugh and moves to prevent Ernie from putting either of his dirty fists into his mouth, knowing that it was exactly the kind of thing he would have done at his age. Jay is always telling Louis how having Ernie is like having a small Louis all over again.

“I think we’ll have to go inside to get you cleaned up, eh big guy?” Louis grins as he picks up Ernie. He’s just about getting too big to carry, but he manages just fine, though it’s a bit of a task to prevent him from smearing dirt all over his shirt. They make it to the bathroom and somehow get all the dirt off Ernie, before Louis takes a hold of his – now clean – hand, and makes his way towards the kitchen where he knows Harry and his mum must be. 

“We’re a bit slow on the uptake, Harry.” Louis hears his mother say, voice kind, as Louis and Ernest move into the hall, hearing their voices through the open door leading to the kitchen.

“I don’t know—“ Harry starts before he’s interrupted by Jay once more.

“Give him time, yeah?”

And, just. Give him time. Give who time? Give Louis time? Time for what?

There’s nothing but silence in the kitchen now, and even Louis and Ernie have stopped in the middle of the hallway, both curiously silent. Somehow Ernie must be sensing that right about now would be quite a terrible time to start talking. Clever lad, really.

“Yeah?” Comes Harry’s voice finally, so, so quiet Louis very nearly misses it.

“Yeah.” Louis hears his mum confirm softly.

And, fuck – Louis’ got fuck all clue what they’re talking about, but they don’t seem to be willing to continue the conversation, so Louis figures he might as well make his presence known. Eavesdropping is probably a grey area – of questionable morals and all that – anyhow.

Louis picks up Ernie and makes his way towards the kitchen door, doing nothing to hide his presence. As he enters the kitchen, his phone alerts him of a new text message, and Louis thanks the higher powers that it didn’t arrive a few minutes earlier. Now that would have been equal parts awkward and hard to explain. Note to self: when eavesdropping and trying to be covert, put your phone on silent. Yes. Valuable life lesson, that. He’ll have to teach Ernie when he’s older.

It’s from Simon Jones again, the text: _‘Fan reporting grandma saw you together in Doncaster. Be a good time to do something that’d confirm you’re together.’_

And, okay. Ask and ye shall receive, Louis is nothing if not out to please. Something.

“Oh, Lou, you shouldn’t carry him around like that,” Jay fusses once she sees Ernest in his arms.

“He felt it was a good idea to test his gardening skills,” Louis says, ignoring his mother admonishing. “So we had to clean you up a bit, right Ern?” Ernie’s only reply is to giggle into Louis’ shoulder, but he’ll take it.

“Hey mum,” Louis says, struck by sudden inspiration, “Take a picture of Harry, Ernie, and me please?” He holds out his phone for his mother to take, and she does so with a small smile.

Harry looks at him, questioning, but all Louis does in reply is grin widely, moving to stand on Harry’s left, holding Ernest between them.

“Alright guys, big smile!” Jay says, as she holds up Louis’ iPhone. Louis poses, one hand pointing at Ernest, mouth wide in excitement. “There you go. Lovely photo. Would you send it to me, dear?” She asks, addressing Louis.

Louis nods his agreement, setting Ernie down on the floor and accepting the phone from his mum.

“Are you tweeting that?” Harry asks, peering at Louis from the stove where he’s back to managing whatever he’s making for lunch with Jay.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Louis nods in affirmation, distracted, trying to figure out what to caption the photo while he opens the twitter app.

This trip has gone better than he’d dared hope so far. He’s happy that they’d gotten the announcement over with so quickly, leaving all this time for Louis to just relax and have fun with his family – just _be_ with them. They’re leaving in a few hours, going to swing by Mark and his grandparents before driving up to Harry’s mum. But Louis is calm about it, so much calmer than when they’d left London. For all intents and purposes Mark is his dad and Keith is his grandfather, and if they can’t accept him for who he is, then, well, _fuck_. It’d suck, sure, but it’d be _their loss_. For some reason he’s not even remotely concerned about his mum’s parents.

He types in the tweet and attaches the photo before locking his phone, placing it on the counter, not bothering to check the amount of retweets and favourites it gets. He’s happy with it just as it is. It’s the truth after all.

[ ](http://imgur.com/RsM1qE3)

[ ](http://imgur.com/u8Ro12n)


	6. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so here's chapter five! 
> 
> As always massive thank you to [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com) for britpicking and betaing - you should have seen how this looked before they got their hands on it, miracle workers they are!  
> And lots of love to [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com) for being my own personal back stroker, I would probably still be looking miserably at chapter two without you! 
> 
> And of course thank you to all of you who've read, left kudos, and comments, and come to talk to me on tumblr! Love you all!
> 
> Without further ado:

_Så tro på at vi lander der hvor vi skal_  
 _Og tro på at vi får det som vi skal have_  
 _Tro på at vi sammen kan nå de smukkeste ting_  
 _Nu er farten høj og løbet er hårdt_  
 _Nu er natten lang og dagen er kort_  
 _Og indimellem tænker vi over hvad det her vil bringe_

(Marie Key – ”De her dage”)

**CHAPTER V:**

The whole flying thing has never really been Louis’ cup of tea. Like, not that he’s scared of it, more that he’s just not a big fan of sitting on an aeroplane for hours on end, uncomfortable and unable to sleep properly, and is shit more often than not, too. So, all around not his favourite pastime, no. Also, time zones. Another thing he’s none too fond of. He’s always been sort of jealous of the way Harry’s internal clock is able to adjust so easily, jetlag being almost a foreign concept to him. One night’s sleep and Harry is fine, making him able to travel from one continent to another on short notice without being all that affected. It’s unfair really, when Louis is affected by jetlag for what seemed like actual ages. He walks around for days feeling like a zombie, unable to sleep when he’s supposed to and so, so tired when he should be awake and rested. Another reason on the list along with millions of other why Harry Styles is the born rock star, and Louis is very decidedly not.  

Now, when sitting in a comfortable sofa in the VIP lounge of Heathrow Airport, he’s slightly grumpy, what with nearly twelve hours on a plane waiting for him. It’s lucky probably, that their stay in LA has at least been extended in order to include coming out interviews for Harry and Louis. It’d have been wholly ridiculous, and terrible for Louis’ inner clock, if they were to leave again on Monday after barely having even touched down in LA, as had been the original plan.

Then again, it’s not exactly like the interviews about his ‘relationship’ with Harry and his preference in who he likes to share his bed with is something to look particularly forward to. Christ.

Louis stands up abruptly, feeling jumpy and buzzing from pent up energy, and he knows that he needs to burn it off somehow before getting on the plane. Talking a walk seems like a good place to start.

“I’m gonna go for a walk, lads,” he announces to the people surrounding him, Alberto getting up from his chair to go with him.

“D’ya want some company?” Zayn asks, looking up from the book he’s been reading quietly.

Louis shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I’m fine.” He catches Harry’s eyes from where the younger man is watching him from his chair, and offers him a small smile before turning his back to the rest of the boys.

He’s got no actual direction really, except for a vague idea to at least go towards some shops, and not just wander among the gates.

“You’ve got about an hour before you board,” Alberto says, walking a step behind Louis, “If you’re going to a shop or something like that, you’ll probably need to prepare for the potential of fans.”

“I don’t mind,” Louis murmurs. He doesn’t really. Beats sitting in a chair for an hour, tapping his feet and going out of his mind.

“Alright, then,” Alberto merely says.

And it’s pretty great, really. He’s been around for a long time now, and Louis feels safe with him. No matter the situation. Not to mention that he trusts him, not just with his well-being, but with his secrets as well. Alberto’s loyal to a fault, would never sell Louis out. He’s a terrific bodyguard, and somewhere down the line he’s become a friend as well.

The two of them manoeuvre through the terminal, Louis forgoing most shops in favour of just walking past, not really feeling like looking at any of the stuff they have to offer. No one has approached him yet, but out of the corner of his eye he’s seen several people whisper and point at him. Oh well.

He’s starting to contemplate maybe just grabbing a cup of tea or something, when something catches his eye. He turns, feeling suddenly inspired as he walks into the Burberry shop, nodding at the sales assistant and trusting Alberto to keep her from interrupting him in his perusing. He heads straight towards the display of scarves they have hanging in the corner of the shop, everything from wool, to cashmere, to silk waiting for him, displaying everything from the classic Burberry print, to new snazzy ones, or none at all.

He lifts his hand to touch one gently, finding himself contemplating which would look the best in Harry’s brown locks quite before he’s even admitted to himself that he’s here to shop for Harry. It’s kind of strange, Louis shopping for Harry that is. Back when they lived together – and after also if Louis is being honest – it wasn’t uncommon for Harry to come back with a sweater of a t-shirt he’d bought for Louis when out shopping, simply because it had made him think of Louis, but Louis usually left Harry’s clothes shopping up to himself.

This though, this practically screams Harry, as Louis takes a teal silk scarf from the rack. It’s got this black heart print on it, connected in a way that almost makes it look like tiny leaves. It’s beautiful. And Louis can just imagine how it would make Harry’s eyes greener, how it would emphasise the pinkness of his lips and the colour of his hair. How Harry would smile wide, dimples deep, when Louis presents it to him. It’s no longer even a question of whether he’s going to buy it for him or not. Honestly, it never really was.

He turns towards the cashier, intent on paying for the scarf and getting back to the lads, when he spies the shop’s impressive collection of hats. Mostly for the fun of it, he makes his way over there, but the longer he contemplates the different hats in front of him, the more he considers purchasing one for Harry. A nice fedora, perhaps, he’d definitely appreciate that.

Louis has always been kind of ambivalent towards Harry and his headwear, on one hand thinking it’s fucking sexy (like those pretty headbands) and on the other hand finding it absolutely ridiculous (like whenever he wore a hat that was bigger than most normal people’s umbrellas). A nice little fedora though, Louis could definitely appreciate that on him. He picks one from the shelf, beige and simple looking. Stylish. Classy.

“Excuse me,” a timid voice sounds behind him. He turns around and is met with the sight of four girls in their mid to late teens, all of whom are looking at him with equals amount of awe and nervousness. He smiles at them, somewhat trying to reassure them that despite what they may think, he’s not going to bite off their heads. The girl speaks again, this time seeming to have gained some confidence from Louis’ reaction to their interruption. “We don’t mean to disturb you, but we were wondering if you’d take a photo with us?”

Louis smiles at them kindly and nods. “Yeah, absolutely. Together or separate?”

It ends up being a minor photoshoot, the girls getting their picture taken in various different combinations and groups before they finally deem it satisfactory. They thank him profusely as he bids them goodbye, excusing himself to go and pay for the scarf and the fedora.

Once he’s got both items in a distinctive Burberry bag, he decides that he might as well head back to the others. He passes the girls outside the shop, giving them a cheerful wave and a smile, chuckling at how they’re all bent over their phones, obviously tweeting their pictures and accounts of what has just happened. He’ll have to check to see what twitter is saying once he’s on the plane, he decides.

It doesn’t take him long to make it back to the lounge area where the boys are sitting, finding them almost in the position he left them. Zayn is still reading his book, both Liam and Niall are sleeping, their heads resting against the backrests. Niall is snoring slightly, and next to him Harry is on his phone, seeming oblivious to the rest of the world until he hears Louis return. He looks up then, offering Louis a small smile before eyeing the bag in his hand with a small frown.

Louis plops down next to him, placing the bag by his feet and instinvtively resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. He feels Harry tip his head, the weight of it settling against his own. Louis exhales.

“You better?” Harry questions, his thumb tracing a pattern into Louis’ thigh.

“Mmmhh,” Louis hums, “Yeah. Was feeling kind of edgy, s’better now. Walk helped, yeah. Bit tired now, though.” He nestles further into Harry’s neck and shifts a bit as Harry extracts his arm from where it’s trapped between them to slip it around him. He holds him to his side, prompting Louis to snuggle up against him even more. Suddenly he could really go for a nap.

“What did you buy?” Harry questions, tapping Louis’ vans clad foot with the toe of a black boot. “I’ve never seen you in Burberry before. I’m a bit curious.” His words are muddled from where his mouth is pressed into Louis’ hair. They’re pretty much full on cuddling now, cramped together between their two chairs, and however uncomfortable it may be, the very thought of moving seems like torture.

“I’ll show you later,” Louis says, unable to hide his smile, hiding it in Harry’s collarbone.

“Unfair,” Harry states. “Really, really unfair, Lou. Show me now, pleeeeeaaseeee?” He drags the last word into a childish whine, and Louis laughs quietly, helplessly fond.

“On the plane, then,” he decides, fiddling with the button of one of the two plaits Harry is wearing. He’s got such a ridiculous sense of fashion still, age having done nothing but solidify it as _Harry_.

“Promise?” Harry whispers, and Louis tips his head up, locking eyes with him. The younger man has a small playful smile on his lips, his eyes sparkling despite how exhausted Louis knows that he is.

They’d ended up driving home from Anne’s early this morning instead of last night, meaning that they’d been up long before anyone should have to be. Once they’d gotten back to London, Louis had driven them both back to his place where Harry’s car was, and they’d separated in order to pack what they each needed for the next week in LA. They’d only had a few hours before they had to be at Heathrow, so a nap was unfortunately out of the question.

Before reaching Anne’s they’d both been by all of Louis’ grandparents’, as well as Mark’s house, and it had, all things considered, gone alright. They’d been hurt and confused, but they’d also been accepting and loving, and that’s really what it came down to in the end. Anne and Robin had been absolutely lovely, their understanding knowing no bounds. Louis suspected, though, that Anne had pulled Harry aside and talked to him about it in private, judging by his demeanour when he’d gone to bed on Friday night, Louis having just gotten out of the shower.  It’s not that he’s seemed angry, or happy, or sad, or any major distinguishable emotion, more that he’d just seemed kind of off. He’d seemed sort of distracted, antsy and fidgeting, unable to settle down once they were in bed. Anne had offered the guest room to Louis, but somehow they’d ended up in Harry’s room together, the both of them having grown too used to sleeping next to each other. Louis found he strangely did sleep better when he wasn’t sleeping alone, another person’s warm body next to his serving as a calming presence. A sense of not being alone.

Louis had finally had enough of Harry’s restlessness, placing his hand flat against his bare back and thus prompting him to turn around to face him. Louis had opened his arms, an invitation for him to take if he wanted, and the younger man had curled up in Louis’ embrace, his forehead resting against his chest. Louis carded his hands through his curls, pulling a satisfied sigh from his lips.

He’d never asked about what Harry and Anne had talked about that night, or why it had affected Harry like it had, figuring that if he wanted him to know, he’d say. That’s not to say he isn’t curious though.

“Yeah,” Louis says, pulling himself back to the presence, “I promise.”

Harry seems satisfied with this, nodding and grinning, happy to have gotten his way somewhat. “I’m so tired,” he sighs, tightening his grip on Louis. “Whose terrible idea was it to drive home this morning?”

“Yours,” Louis grins. “You’ve only got yourself to blame for this one, mate.”

Harry groans. “Never listen to me again, please.”

Louis laughs, bright and louder than expected. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Harry grins back. “Better not,” he says, “I doubt that go well, if we only had your ideas to follow.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate here, _mate_ , but I’ll have you know that I co—“

“Lads,” Zayn interrupts him, prompting Louis to trail off and look up at him in question. “We get to board now ahead of the rest.”

Louis nods and looks around, a little surprised to see that both Niall and Liam are awake and ready to go, all of it having happened around him, without him even noticing.

“I swear to God, Tommo,” Niall says as they make their way out of the lounge, him and Louis walking next to each other, “It’s like you and Harry exist in your own little world, completely oblivious to the rest of us.”

Hitching up his backpack and keeping it from sliding down his shoulder, Louis shrugs. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why.” He says finally, because he really doesn’t, it’s not like it’s something that happens with anyone else, it’s only Harry. He’s not sure why he’s apologising, except that he feels like he should.

“Nah, mate,” Niall grins, “It’s always been like that. We don’t mind, we’ve never minded. The two of you’ve always been special.”

“Who’s special?” Zayn asks, coming up from behind Louis and slinging his arm around his shoulders. “Little Lou here?”

Louis mock growls, “I don’t know who you’re calling little, Malik, but—“

“Boys,” Paul warns, as they’re nearing the gate. “Let’s just get on the plane, yeah? No stopping for fans.”

The boys nod and straighten up slightly, all of them stopping their playful banter in favour of stepping into a more professional demeanour. Not even the playful stage one, or the friendly let’s-meet-the-fans one, but a purely professional mask, designed to get their task done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

It doesn’t take long to have their passports and boarding passes checked, and soon Louis finds himself seated in first class next to Harry, facing the reality of spending the next 12 hours on a plane. He’s not a fan. It makes it easier though, that he’s sitting next to Harry. They’ve got a fool-proof routine for sleeping down, involving a lot of odd angles and tangled limbs, but resulting in the both of them being able to sleep comfortably. Louis much prefers to sit next to Harry, really. Niall snores, Liam pours sugar packets on him, and Zayn is all sharp edges and pointy bones, and definitely not nice to use as a pillow.

“So,” Harry’s voice interrupts his thoughts, “We’re on the plane, Lou. Let me see what you bought!”

“Right,” Louis says, grabbing the bag from where he’d placed it underneath the seat in front of him. “Uhm, well, happy coming out, I guess.” He hands Harry the bag with a small smile.

“What?” Harry asks, confusion marring his face. “Is it for me?”

Louis shrugs, “Well, Burberry’s not really my brand, is it?”

Harry looks intently at him, hands clasped on the bag, but he has yet to open it. “Lou,” he says quietly, this odd edge to his voice which Louis can’t quite place. “Lou, you shouldn’t have—“

“Come on, H,” Louis sighs, “Don’t go all mushy on me. It’s just a present. Open it, yeah?” He pulls out his phone, trying to remain aloof while Harry gingerly looks into the bag.

Harry pulls out the scarf first, looking up at Louis with a blinding smile after he’s studied the scarf thoroughly.  

“You’re very passionate about me wearing these headscarves, huh? I never knew you liked them so much.” He grins, the scarf clutched in one of his massive paws.

Louis shrugs, tossing his phone between his hands. “Was the fact that I gifted you with about a hundred new ones on your twentieth birthday not a dead give-away?”

Harry laughs and inclines his head. “That’s true, I just… Thank you, Lou. Really. You didn’t have to do this, it’s—it’s really beautiful.”

Louis doesn’t blush, but it’s a damn near thing. He nods towards the bag. “There’s one more thing.”

Harry smiles at him fondly, before pulling out the fedora. He raises his eyebrows at Louis and laughs, “What is it with you, and me with headwear?”

Louis shrugs. “I just kind of thought it was a shame you stopped wearing stuff like this, is all.”

Harry’s dimples deepen and he puts on the fedora, smiling up at Louis. “How do I look?”

Louis grins back, easy and honest, before answering, “Brilliant, Haz.”

Harry leans in and places a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning his forehead briefly against the side of Louis’ head. “Really, just thank you. This is so, so lovely, Lou. I love them.”

Louis plucks the hat from Harry’s head and balances it on his knees, smiling comfortably at him. “You’re welcome,” he says simply, no need for any other words, really.

“Hmm,” Harry hums, and scoots down slightly, positioning himself so that his head can rest against Louis’ shoulder comfortably. “Did you run into any fans?”

“Yeah,” Louis says as he rests his head on top of Harry’s, “A few came when I was about to pay in Burberry. Took a few photos, nothing big.”

“We should check twitter for them, eh?” Harry suggests. “Like, check one of the update accounts or something.”

“Sure,” Louis agrees easily, opening the twitter app on his phone. He chooses one of the big update accounts, and sees that the last three tweets have been about his spotting.

[ ](http://imgur.com/1jdZKrm)

[ ](http://imgur.com/okhUnq8)

[ ](http://imgur.com/E8GIitT)

[ ](http://imgur.com/HJzbeQ0)

“That’s—“ Harry hesitates for a moment, and lifts his head from Louis’ shoulder, in order to be able to look at him properly, “That’s kind of really brilliant, Lou. People will know that I got these from you when I wear it. Pretty neat, that. Quite sly actually.”

Louis frowns. “That’s not why I did it though. I had no idea they’d be able to identify it from the photo and—“

“No,” Harry interrupts, “Lou, come on. I know you didn’t, like, plan this or whatever. I _know_. I’m just saying it’s convenient. It seems real, because it is real. You did buy me this just because you wanted to, and through an unplanned event people now know that you bought it, and they’ll be able to connect the dots. But that’s not why I like it. I love both, really, Louis, I do! And I can’t believe you bought these and I just—“

“Stop,” Louis interrupts him with a laugh, taking a hold of Harry’s wrists. “Stop, babe. Really. You’re welcome. I’m glad you like them.”

“I do.” Harry repeats again. “Think Caroline will let me get away with wearing it at the TCAs?”

Louis snorts. “You don’t have to do that, Haz. Really.”

“No, no. Louis. I want to.” Harry assures him eagerly, turning his hands around in order to grab Louis’ hands with his. “You’re amazing.”

Louis laughs and rests his forehead on Harry’s shoulder, shaking it slightly. “And you’re an idiot. Fuck, babe, it’s just a scarf and a hat.”

He feels it when Harry’s shrugs, his forehead still on his shoulder, following it up and then down as it moves. “Not to me it isn’t.” A beat of silence, then, “Hey, do you wanna come with me to Shamrocks when we get to LA?”

Louis pulls back from Harry to look him in the eyes. He cocks an eyebrow in question. “You getting a tattoo?” Well, you know, probably shouldn’t come as a surprise.

“Yeah,” Harry smiles, “Made an appointment for tonight. We could grab some dinner after leaving the airport, and then, like, go there? If you want?  It’s fine if you’d rather just go back to my house and sleep…”

“No,” Louis shakes his head slightly, not even having to think about it twice, “I’d love to go with you, yeah? We can always grab dinner somewhere we’re guaranteed to be papped leaving. Hit two birds with one stone, sort of.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, leaning his head back against the seat, “that’d be good, yeah. It’d be—“

But Louis never gets to know what would be what, because next thing he knows a flight attendant is interrupting them, asking them to fasten their seatbelts and get ready for take off.

From there it’s a wholly eventless flight. Louis sleeps away a fair bit of it, and spends the rest listening to music and playing QuizUp against Zayn on his phone, Harry subtly helping him.

“Are there paps waiting for us at LAX?” Louis asks when there’s only half an hour until their landing. He’s curled into Harry somehow, having ended up with his head on the younger boy’s chest.

Harry hums, “Yeah. I think so. Isn’t there always, though?”

Louis allows a chuckle to escape. “Point taken.”

“It’s weird, innit?” Harry says after a moment of silence, carding his hand through Louis’ hair. “I mean like, in less than 48 hours the whole world will think we’re in a relationship.”

“Nah, mate,” Louis teases, “I’m sure there’ll still be one or two insisting that the great Harry Styles simply cannot be anything but very, very, _very_ straight.”

Harry swats his upper arm, “ _Louis_ , I was being serious here.”

Louis sobers instantly. “Sorry, babe. Um, yeah. It’s really weird, definitely. Weird and scary, like. Yeah. Just… a bit hard to imagine, no? Seems kind of surreal to me, to be honest.”

It takes Harry a moment to answer, then, “Surreal. Yeah, uh… for me too. Surreal.”

“Hmm,” Louis is tired, his eyelids drooping and he could definitely, definitely go to sleep now. No use though, when they’ll be landing in no time. No one can blame him for being tired though, it is like four in the morning UK time. “We should maybe sit down sometime and think of couple-y things we can do over the next couple of months, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, distractedly running his hands through Louis’ hair again, and then repeating the motion.

Louis sighs and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t do that, Haz. You’re gonna make me fall asleep again.”

Harry chuckles. “That’d be of no use, we’re nearly there. We better sit up properly anyhow. We’ll go straight to Craig’s or something when we get there, yeah? And then Shamrocks, and then we can go straight to bed when we get back to the house. We haven’t got TCA rehearsals until noon tomorrow, and the meeting with Jones about the arrival isn’t until Sunday morning.”

Louis nods, “Yeah, sounds good.” He straightens up in his seat and fastens his seat belt once more as the flight attendant comes by again. “Hey,” he says, suddenly remembering that Harry never disclosed what he’s getting at Shamrock’s, “What are you going to get?”

“Huh?” Harry says, momentarily confused, before visibly catching on. “Oh, the tattoo? Umm, well, just this lyric from _Happily_ that I’ve wanted to get for years, yeah? Just never really could, all things considered, so, umm…”

“Which lyric?”

Harry hesitates for a moment, then, “I just want it to be you and I forever”.

“Oh,” Louis says, temporarily stunned into silence. “That’s… well, people are going to take that as being about the two of us, you know?”

Harry shrugs, and turns to look out of the window, taking in the sight of the ground getting closer and closer. “Let them then,” he finally says, voice barely distinguishable over the loud noise from the plane. “I don’t really care to be honest. It’s, well. I’ve wanted this for a while. It’s—I can’t explain it, Lou, I—“

“Hey,” Louis interrupts him, reaching out to touch his upper arm gently. “Hey. Darling, come on, you don’t owe me any kind of explanation, alright? It’s a lovely lyric, it really is. I don’t mind that people will think it’s about us. I kind of hope it’ll turn out to be about us. I mean, like, I hope we’re just as close as we are now forever. I don’t ever wanna lose the friendship we have together.”

There’s a sort of sad tilt to Harry’s mouth when he smiles in response, like his lips just couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to look genuinely happy.

“Sometimes I think I’ll end up alone.” Harry lets out after a moment of silence, effectively somewhat changing the subject. The words are quiet, Harry’s voice barely above a whisper, but fuck if they don’t shatter Louis’ heart into a billion tiny pieces, grinding it until it’s nothing but tiny particles of dust. Because _shit_ , there is literally not a single person on the entire planet Earth, not one individual in the history of mankind, whom Louis could point at and say deserves to find someone to love and spend the rest of their life with more than Harry.

Harry who has – _fuck_ – who has probably never even known what it’s like to be in love. And it’s not that Louis’ really ever been in love either, but that’s so not the point, because this is Harry. Beautiful, lovely, wonderful, magnificent Harry, who is both far kinder and much more deserving of love than Louis. The thought that he should end up alone is nearly unbearable.

“No, Haz,” he says, once he’s regained his ability to function, “You _won’t_. I promise, love, some day you’re going to meet some wonderful boy, and you’re going to fall in love with him, and there is literally no way he won’t fall in love with you too. And you’ll get married and have wonderful children who will be just as amazing as their dad. And I will hate your husband just a little bit for coming along and taking you from me.”

For a moment Harry looks like he’s about to say something, odd expression on his face, but then he turns his head, burying it in Louis’ chest at the same moment as the flight touches the ground. He stays there as the flight taxies into place, Louis gently rubbing his back. They don’t separate until the flight attendant returns to inform them that they’re free to leave the plane ahead of the people in the lower classes.

It’s a quick thing, getting up and off the plane, and through all the formalities that must be covered when entering a new country. They don’t wait for their bags, having people who will make sure they get to their hotel rooms, or in their case Harry’s house, where they’ve opted for staying for the duration of their time in Los Angeles. Harry had offered the other boys to come stay at his as well, but they’d all preferred  a hotel for the week – even Liam who has his own house here – the allure of a breakfast bar and room service being too much for them. Management and PR had been wholly supportive of the idea of Harry and Louis staying separately from the rest of the boys, counting on the fact that everyone but the two of them would be seen and papped at the hotel to raise suspicion that they were somewhere private, just the two of them.

They take a moment to collectively steel themselves before going to meet the wall of paparazzi they’ve been told will be waiting for them. It’s been a long time since they’ve had to deal with anything quite of this scale, so it’s all a bit daunting. (Fucking terrifying actually, but, well, semantics). Once they’re as ready as they’ll ever be, they start moving again, Niall, Liam, and Zayn leaving in front of Harry and Louis, who are walking next to each other, but other than that doing nothing to indicate that anything has changed between them. Louis is clutching the Burberry bag in one hand, ensuring that there will be high quality pictures of him in possession of it, before Harry turns up with new Burberry items.

It’s strange really, being back to getting blinding by flashes going off, and steadily ignoring the many questions and requests shouted at you.

_‘Hey, Harry! Harry! Look here, bro!’_

_‘Harry, Louis, are you gonna give us a kiss for the camera?’_

_‘Where are you going now, boys? Zayn, where’s the missus?’_

_‘Niall, did you and Barbara break up?’_

And so it continues, though Louis is happy to note that he has managed to retain his finely tuned ability to ignore every single word that comes out of their mouths. It’s a proper feat alright. Louis places a hand on Harry’s lower back, using gentle pressure to guide him towards the car, wanting to get out of there as fast as possible.

They stumble into the car with little grace a minute later, breathing a collective sigh of relief.

“I’d sort of forgotten how much of a madhouse that could be when it’s all five of us.” Harry says, sagging back into the seat of the car.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, mimicking his pose. They’re alone now, the other boys having taken a different car to the hotel, having all declined Louis and Harry’s generous offer to come with them to dinner.

It’s a quarter to eight, but for Louis’ internal clock it’s nearly five in the morning, so he’s already exhausted. He closes his eyes for what is supposed to be just a second, but the next thing he knows is Harry gently shaking him awake.

“Gotta wake up, babe,” he says, “We’re here now.”

Disoriented and barely awake, Louis makes a noise of disapproval and buries his head in Harry’s chest.

“Come on, Lou,” Harry coaches gently, “We going to go eat, yeah? We’ll take the back entrance in and then leave out the front.”

Louis nods against Harry’s collarbone, breathes in deep and pulls back. The heavy blanket of sleep is somewhat being lifted off of him, and he stretches as best he can inside the car, before looking up at Harry through his lashes.

“Right,” he says, “Yes, let’s go. God, I’m exhausted. Bloody jetlag.”

Harry hums in agreement, though he seems entirely unbothered by it, the bastard.

When they’re finally seated at a table in the middle of the restaurant, they take a moment to consider what they’d like before ordering. The waiter returns a minute later with a bottle of wine and some water, before leaving them alone again. Louis wants nothing more than to bury himself in Harry, not in the mood to be around other people at all. They’re sitting close, despite the massive booth they’ve got for themselves, and Louis leans into Harry, burying his face in Harry’s chest. He’s still soft and tired, pliant from his little nap in the car, and it’s quite possible that he could just fall asleep right then and there, given the proper opportunity.

He soon feels Harry nuzzling into his hair, inhaling deeply, and he absent mindedly thinks that he hopes his hair smells alright.

“There’s a girl sneaking photos of us from one of the tables,” Harry breathes into Louis’ hair, his hot breath soothing on Louis’ scalp. He hums in recognition of Harry’s words, but opts for doing nothing but pressing himself closer to Harry, chasing the warmth and revelling in the way his body sags into Harry’s like they were intentionally sculpted to just fit. He could get up, should probably get up and extract himself from Harry, but he doesn’t want to. Besides, isn’t staying what a boyfriend would do anyway?

So stay he does, comfortable just to be close to him, ignoring the fact that they are in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

It’s not until the waiter returns with two steaming hot plates that he lifts his head from Harry’s chest, giving it a light parting kiss for show. They eat in relative silence, jet lag seeming to finally pay Harry a little visit. It’s a comfortable silence though, as it always is with them. When he has taken the last bite of his food, Louis is reminded of Harry’s impending tattoo, and he realizes that he never asked where it would be. He takes in what he can see of Harry’s body, most of it sadly covered by fabric, only his arms bare for Louis to see. There’s barely any space left on Harry’s left arm, most of it covered with different tattoos, different memories, some of which even Louis doesn’t know the true meaning to. His other arm, the right one, is still suspiciously bare, just like Louis’ own left. He’s never really considered much why that is, it’s always just felt wrong to even consider filling it like he’s filled his other arm. He wonders now, if maybe Harry is planning to finally tattoo his mostly bare arm, can’t imagine where he’d find room on the other, unless he means for the tattoo to weave itself in between the others. Or maybe he’s planned to have it somewhere else on his body entirely.

He catches Harry’s attention by taking a hold of his wrist, his thumb brushing over his pulse point, vaguely noting the soft thud-thud of Harry’s heart he can feel under his thumb.   

“Where are you going to get it?” he asks, and then clarifies, “The tattoo, I mean.”

Harry smiles and nods his head at where Louis’ fingers are encompassing his right wrist. “Right there,” he says, “Around my wrist. Like a bracelet, sort of.”

Louis loosens his grip on him and moves it to take hold of his hand instead, pulling his wrist closer to him to study. He runs a finger over the soft skin, imagines how it’ll look when it’s got words etched into it, all the way around.

“Gonna look so pretty, darling, I’m sure of it.” He murmurs, giving Harry’s hand a small squeeze before releasing it again.

Harry practically preens under his compliments, smile wide and sincere. “Thank you,” he breathes, “Means a lot.”

Louis smiles back at him, “Are you ready now? Wanna get the bill and go?”

“Lou, I’ve long surpassed the point where I had to, like, ‘get ready’ for a tattoo. Think I got a few too many for that. But yes, let’s go, yeah? And then to bed. After. So you can sleep.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, flagging down a waiter, “Sounds brilliant.”

Louis gets the bill for them whilst Harry calls their driver to let him know to have the car ready outside. They collect their things before making their way towards the doors that lead them onto the street and into the arms of what seems like half of LA’s paparazzi.

They’re blinded by flashes the second the door opens and they leave the restaurant. Louis walks half a step in front of Harry, trying to make out the path to the car through the bright spots dancing in front of his eyes, when he feels Harry’s hand rest on his hip, gently leading him forward. He twists his hand around to hold onto Harry’s forearm and leans slightly against him as he comes up next to Louis. He keeps his head down from there on out, trusting Harry to guide him to the car.

Their driver is ready in front of the passenger door, holding it open as they reach him, enabling the two of them to slip into the car quickly. Aware that the paparazzi are still taking pictures through the window of the car, Louis places his hand on Harry’s thigh and sags against him.

“Don’t know how you managed to live with this daily, to be honest,” he mumbles into Harry’s chest, his thumb absent mindedly drawing circles into Harry’s thigh.

He feels Harry shrug more than he sees it, and when he speaks, it is with words breathed into Louis’ hair.

“You get used to it.”

“That’s… that’s kind of sad, really, Haz.” Louis says after a moment’s pause, because, fuck, _it is_. It’s not something anyone should ever have to get used to, being treated like you’re some kind of zoo animal, some kind of object everyone has the right to get a piece of, like you’re not even _human._

Harry shrugs again and brushes his hand across Louis’ chest, over his tattoo. “It is what it is.” He says, and then pulls Louis a fraction of an inch closer, just as the car finally starts moving.

Louis stays in his position, even as they’re moving down the street at a steady speed, too lazy and too tired to sit upright. Harry doesn’t seem to mind anyhow, as he rests his head on top of Louis’.

It’s a short drive, only a few minutes until they’re parked outside of the tattoo shop, a few paps lingering there, apparently waiting for them as they perk up once the car pulls to a stop in front of the parlour.

Louis sits up, and makes to get out of the car, when Harry catches his wrist, making him turn his attention back to Harry to see what he wants.

Harry’s eyes are big and apologetic, and his grip on Louis’ wrist tightens as he speaks, as though it’s absolutely necessary for him that Louis believes him. “I didn’t know they’d be here, Lou. I didn’t, _I swear_.”

Louis shakes his head, moves the hand whose wrist Harry isn’t clutching to stroke down his cheek. “I know that, darling. The thought never even crossed my mind, I promise. Let’s just get it over with, eh? Let’s get you tatted.”

Harry seems to breathe a visible sigh of relief, before he smiles whilst ducking his head slightly, looking up at Louis through his lashes, looking so, so adorable and then, at last, nods.

Louis runs his hand through Harry’s hair as a parting gesture, before opening the car door and stepping outside. The walk from the car is both shorter and easier to make than when at Craig’s, the amount of paps far smaller. Louis suspects though that there might be a few fans outside once they’re ready to leave, a rather large amount of people seeming to have taken quite an investment in their rumoured relationship.

Once they’re inside Shamrock Social Club they’re greeted by Freddy. Louis is delighted to see him again, it being a long time he last stepped foot here. He gives them an appraising look, and then a nod and a smile.

“Always knew there was more than just friendship between the two of you,” he says, pointing between their arms. “Too many complimentary tattoos for it all to be platonic. Glad to see you’re not hiding it anymore.”

Louis shrugs and leans slightly into Harry for show, when the younger boy rests his massive hand on the small of his back. He doesn’t bother to correct Freddy’s assumption about the length of their ‘relationship’, opting instead for just smiling softly.

“We got sick of pretending, yeah?” Harry says then. “Figured now might be the best time to just come clean with it.”

“Didn’t want a tour where we had to constantly hide everything, you know?”

“Makes sense, boys. ‘M happy for you, ‘bout fucking time, I’d say. Are we tatting you up too, Louis? Getting more couple tattoos?”

Louis’ shakes his head, “Just Harry this time, mate. Though I gotta admit I’m itching a bit to get a new one now I’m here.”

Freddy laughs, “It’s usually like that, yeah. Next time you’re here, eh? Give you two the time to come up with something blatantly obvious.”

“Absolutely,” Harry says, smiling as he seats himself in the chair, rolling up the fabric of his flannel shirt and baring his naked wrist.

Freddy nods and seems to put on his professional mask, nodding towards Harry’s arm. “A lyric, yeah?”

“Yes.” Harry nods, and produces a piece of paper from his pocket. “This one.”

Freddy reads out the words quickly, cocking an eyebrow and looking between the two of them. “Not a couple tattoo, eh?”

Louis looks to Harry, a small smile tugging on his lips, and sees him shrugging sheepishly at Freddy, a pretty blush colouring his cheeks.

“Alright then,” Freddy says, waving the paper slightly, “And in this writing?”

Harry nods. “It’s just my own, yeah.”

“Don’t want your boyfriend over there to be the writer?”

“No,” Harry says, just as Louis’ heart speeds up, Freddy’s question startling him, irrationally nervous about what Harry might have said. Which is ridiculous, of course, why should Harry ever want something like that to be on his body in Louis’ handwriting? “I’m the one who’s wishing it, no?”

“Hey,” Louis interjects, running his hands down Harry’s back. “I want it too, love.” It’s mostly for show, but then again, also a little bit not. He _does_ wish that it’ll always be him and Harry against the world, after all.

Harry leans into his touch, and meets Louis’ eyes with a smile. Louis smiles back at him. Fond and private. Harry knows what Louis means, what he isn’t saying, Louis is certain.

“Sure,” Freddy says, drawing their attention back to him. “I’ll just get this ready then.” He waves the paper in the air, and then leaves the room.

Harry and Louis and the only ones left here now, bar the paparazzi and fans who have started to congregate outside the shop, visible through the windows.

“Louis,” Harry says, voice quiet, effectively drawing Louis’ attention back to him. “I was—well, umm, I was kind of, you know, wondering if, well, if you’d, you know… do some of it?”

Louis knits his brow together in confusion, trying to decipher Harry’s sentence. “Do some of what?” he asks, confused.

Harry doesn’t meet his eyes when he answers, “The tattoo.” He looks up then, eyes locking with Louis. “Would you do some of the tattoo?”

For several long seconds Louis is too stunned to answer, wouldn’t know what to say even if he wasn’t paralysed into confusion. Because in, like, an objective light, he knows that Harry’s been tattooed by his friends before, knows he has small doodles by Ed and one by Zayn, and that’s fine, but it’s silly and somewhat meaningless, and Louis has never even entertained the idea of holding the gun himself, one hundred percent convinced that he lacks the steady hand and the artistic abilities it would require. And, fuck, Harry is asking him to do a part of this tattoo – this tattoo that he’s been waiting years to have -- shit, fuck, bloody hell, just what _even_?!

“Fuck, Haz,” Louis finally breathes. “I couldn’t do that. Fuck, no. I’d mess it all up. I’m not Zayn, I haven’t got a steady hand, I’d ruin it completely, I—“

“Lou,” Harry interrupts, a hand on Louis’ arm, calming him down. “Relax, love. You don’t have to, really. But I’d love it, if you would. I’m not asking for steady or, like, pretty. It can be crooked, and messy, and… I don’t mind, okay? It’s just the dots between the beginning and the end of the lyric, and yeah… I’d really love it if you’d do them. It’d mean a lot.”

Louis breathes in a steadying breath. “Just the dots?” He questions.

Harry nods, smile slowly blooming on his face. “Just the dots.” He confirms.

“And you won’t hold it against me when I fuck it up?”

Harry’s grin remains wide, bastard knowing perfectly well that he’s already convinced Louis. Stupid curls and puppy eyes. Blast it all.

“I’d never. I’ll love it. I promise.”

Louis is about to protest that he can’t know that in advance, when Freddy returns. “Settled your lovers spat?”, he questions, a knowing glint in his eye.

Harry grins. “Yes,” he says smugly, “Louis will do the dots.”

Freddy nods, and looks at Louis, who surely must have a look of complete terror on his face. That’s how he’s feeling anyhow. “You wanna go before or after me?” He asks, nodding towards Harry’s wrist and the tattoo gun lying next to it.

“Umm,” Louis hears himself say, uncertain. “First, I think. Yes. First, get it over with, please.”

“Hey,” Harry says softly, reaching out to take Louis’ hand, stroking his thumb over the back of it. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Louis pauses for a second and catches Harry’s eyes, concern and sincerity shining through. And, also, sweetheart? That’s a new one. He’ll have to up that one soon.

“No,” Louis decides. “No, I want to do this. Dear.” Louis tags on the last word, looking at Harry meaningfully.

Harry grins at that, keeps himself from laughing somehow. “Okay.”

“Right, Louis,” Freddy interrupts, having prepared Harry’s wrist while they talked. “I’m just gonna walk you through it, yeah? It’s just three small dots, it’ll be over before you know it. You just have to dip the needle in the ink here, see, and then press it into his skin at a 45 degree angle where the mark is on his skin. You’ve been on the other side of this a hundred times, bro, you know how it is.”

Louis represses the urge to shake his head, because _it is not the fucking same thing, okay?!_

And. Shit. Suddenly it just feels so massive and important and all consuming and shit _shit_ shitshit how is Louis supposed to _do_ this?

“Lou,” Harry says, catching Louis’ attention, making him look up from Harry’s wrist and at his best friend instead. “I trust you, okay? I love you.”

Louis nods, feels himself calm somewhat. He leans down, tattoo gun still clutched in one hand, and presses a kiss against the back of the hand that’s about to be tattooed. He nods again. “Right. Right. I love you too. Okay.” Nodding up at Freddy, he attempts a smile. “Let’s do this. I’m ready.”

Freddy nods, instructs Louis on how to go about it again, and sooner than he ever could have been prepared for, he’s pressing the needle into Harry’s skin. For something that he has managed to work himself up over so quickly, it’s over laughably fast. He hands Freddy the gun, hands shaking slightly now that it’s over, and moves to rest his forehead against Harry’s, trying to regain control of his body that seems to have gone completely hay wire.

Harry twists his head as Freddy starts working on the tattoo, kissing Louis on the forehead, down the side of his face, over his cheek, to his neck and his collarbones. “Thank you,” he breathes into Louis’ skin, head resting against his chest.

Louis runs his hands through Harry’s hair as Freddy keeps working on him, adjusting his wrist as needs be. Louis hasn’t dared look at what he’s tattooed after he finished, fucking terrified to be met by runny ink and bloody squares or something. It’s not entirely unlikely, in all honesty.

When Freddy’s finished and cleaned up Harry’s wrist, Harry pulls it closer to himself, studying it close up, and obstructing Louis’ view of it in the meantime.

“Lou,” Harry breathes, looking up at him with wide eyes, lips curling into a smile, dimples on full display. “ _Thank you!”_ He pauses for a moment, then, wryly, “I’d kiss you if it wouldn’t end up on plastered across the internet in five seconds flat.”

Louis laughs, knows Harry’s kidding, and takes a hold of his forearm gently, guiding it towards himself so he can see. “When we get home, babe,” he murmurs for the benefit of Freddy, acutely aware of the roles they’re playing. He focuses then on inspecting the newest addition to Harry’s large collection of tattoos, stares at how the words wrap around his wrist, not unlike the ‘I can’t change…’ tattoo he’d gotten covered long ago, only this time moving all the way around Harry’s wrist. And there, nestled between the ‘forever’ and ‘I’, the beginning and end of the tattoo, are the three dots Louis has made.

They’re… well, they’re not _bad_ , exactly. More like—well, they’re all round and the ink isn’t running, which Louis counts as a clear victory, and, really, well, he’d kind of expected it to be worse. The first dot is slightly bigger than the other two, and the middle one isn’t quite on line with the rest, but it could have gone far, far worse. All in all it’s a beautiful tattoo, compliments Harry’s slim wrist nicely, and it’s just… pretty. Very Harry, really.

Harry’s fingers sneak under his chin and pull Louis’ head up, making him look at his face instead. “It’s perfect, babe, it really is. I love it. I love _you_.”

And, it’s… well it’s weird, because it’s the first time Louis has caught himself wondering how much of Harry’s appearance is for show. Not that—like, Louis knows that Harry wouldn’t say it was perfect, wouldn’t say he loved it if he didn’t mean it, and he knows that Harry loves him. But is he telling him so because he wants Louis to know, or because he is playing the role of Louis’ soon-to-be public boyfriend? Would Harry have said it to him if they hadn’t had these roles to play?

Louis mentally shakes his head, not wanting to dwell on it. Instead he trusts his own wrist, the one donning the band with the suit of cards on it, towards Harry. “Do me now,” he says, the idea having literally just formed in his mind. He turns his wrist over, exposing the underside, the opposite of where Harry’s three dots are resting, and looks up at him, meeting his confused eyes.

“Three dots. Go ahead, do me.”

Harry frowns. “Are you serious?”

Louis only nods, and looks to Freddy. “Is that okay?”

Freddy grins and nods. “Sure thing, mate. I’ll get a new needle. Switch places you two.” He leaves the room, presumably to get the equipment for tattooing Louis, and Louis turns his attention back to Harry.

“Will you?”

“I—“ Harry says, still seeming somewhat shocked. “Are you sure?”

Louis smiles, running a soft thumb over the skin above Harry’s new tattoo, careful not to touch the inked skin. “One hundred percent sure,” Louis says, finding that he’s speaking the absolute truth. It may have been a spontaneous idea, but he’s sure that it’s what he wants.

When Freddy returns he wraps up Harry’s wrist and talks him through the steps of tattooing Louis, even though he’s actually tried his hand at it before. After that it’s a quick process, practically over before Louis has even prepared himself for it to begin, and soon he has three small dots directly above the club suit of his other tattoo. Louis can’t help but think how both of their dots will be visible, would practically line up if they’re holding hands. The thought is oddly dizzying.

“Thank you,” he tells Harry, unable to tear his eyes from the new tattoo. It’s undoubtedly the simplest and smallest one he’s got, but it already means so, so much, because _Harry_ did it. Harry did this. _Shit_.

Exhaustion suddenly hits him like a tonne of bricks, the excitement of tattooing and being tattooed somewhat over, and now he just wants to go back to Harry’s house and curl up in bed with him. He gets his way soon enough as they pay Freddy and quickly bid him goodbye. They make their way through the paparazzi assembled outside, and the fans attempting to snap selfies with the two of them while they’re walking to the car, and then they’re finally driving back to Harry’s house. Somehow Louis avoids falling asleep on the way, but he’s out cold the second his head touches the pillow in Harry’s bedroom.

 

The next day, the day before the TCA’s, passes by in a blur of technical run throughs, rehearsals, and their briefing about tomorrow’s arrival, and before Louis knows it he’s sitting in the backseat of the car that will take him and Harry to the show.

And it’s fucking terrifying, and he’s bloody scared. It’s one thing that he’s about to come out to the world, and he’s doing so in a fake relationship with his best mate, but on top of that they’re also performing their newest single – the world premiere of their new music. Nobody’s heard the song before, and in all likelihood it may fail spectacularly. Not to mention that the gig they were able to get is the TCA’s, which, well, isn’t necessarily the most beneficial considering the fact that they are trying to reach a broader spectrum of fans.

The reality is though that beggars can’t be choosers, and all Louis can hope is that they’ll smash their performance now, and that people will like it. They just have to do their best, and as cliché as it is, there is nothing else they can do.

“They’ve just arrived,” Harry says, interrupting Louis’ musings, his phone clutched in his hand as he follows E!’s twitter as it live tweets from the red carpet. “The boys, I mean. They’ve just stepped onto the red carpet, and people are starting to wonder where we are.”

“Right,” Louis says in acknowledgement, helpless to fight the grin spreading over his face. It’s just… this is kind of ridiculous, really. Like, when you stop to think about it all, it’s absolutely one hundred percent just really fucking absurd. And can you really do anything but laugh at it?

“So,” Harry says, putting his phone down as the car starts moving from where it’s been parked for the last fifteen minutes. It’ll only be five minutes before they’re there now, Louis knows. “Holding hands, right? But no direct confirmation. Be coy, dodge questions, keep them guessing? They’re putting out a press release soon. That’s it, right?”

Louis nods, “Yeah, I think that about covers it.”

“Okay.” Harry fidgets with the edge of his sheer black shirt which is unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, showing off the butterfly and the birds nicely. He’s got half a zoo tattooed on his chest, and Louis is apparently easily amused. The fedora Louis bought for him earlier rests on top of his curls, and he looks so much like he did two years ago that it almost feels like Louis has gone back in time.  Almost.

“You nervous?” he questions, and rests his hand on Harry’s thigh, meaning it to be a comforting gesture.

“Yes,” he breathes, looking up at Louis and meeting his eyes, “I am. I really, really am!”

Louis squeezes his thigh and runs his thumb over the denim of his black skinny jeans. “Me too,” he says honestly, “Really, very nervous. We’re in this together though, so it’ll be alright.”

Harry nods. “Yes. Yes. Alright. It’ll be alright.”

“I’ll go out first, yeah?” Louis asks as the car pulls to a stop.

“Okay.”

Louis nods once curtly and takes a deep breath, adjusting the jean jacket he’s wearing as the passenger door is opened. He steps out, not allowing himself as much as a second to linger on what he’s about to do, what it will mean. Knows that thinking about it will do nothing but harm, knows that it’s one of those things he needs to just throw himself into. No second thoughts.

It’s overwhelming is what it is, the second he’s out of the car. Fans are lined up, screaming his name as they see him, paparazzi snapping away at him, so many flashes that he can hardly make out what is going on in front of him, and the interviewers lined up as well, waiting to get their individual scoop.

He turns his attention back to the car just as Harry steps out, looking the very definition of calm and at ease despite how nervous Louis knows he was in the car – must still be. He’s a fucking picture: so, so beautiful. All skinny jeans, and shining boots, and sheer shirts and the fedora that Louis knows will be tied to him in two seconds flat.

He smiles at Harry, small and private, and receives one in return, both reassuring the other that they’re there, that they’re in this together, doing it together. He suppresses the need to draw in a big breath in preparation, and just holds out his hand for Harry to take instead. Like ripping off a plaster.

Harry takes it with a smile, his palm clammy in Louis’, and it’s the only thing betraying how nervous he really is. Louis squeezes his hand, knows that his own must be at least as gross, and then interlaces the fingers.

The effect of their clasped hands is immediate. The screaming from the fans assembled to see the various stars’ arrivals increases tenfold, and the paps go _crazy_. In all his years of being a pretty fucking big celebrity, he’s never experienced it quite like this. It’s got a sort of frantic edge to it, like they just know that this is a _BIG THING_ , capital letters and all, like they know it’s practically showbiz history, like they know that if they get the best picture it might make them rich enough to retire comfortably tomorrow.

And it’s just weird… like, Louis doesn’t know what he expected, but this—it’s a fucking circus. Maybe he was kind of expecting time to stand still for just a moment, everything suspended in air, frozen in mid-air. Maybe he was expecting everyone to be stunned into silence or whatever. Maybe he just wasn’t expecting anything. It’s… well, it’s not because he couldn’t have foreseen this kind of reaction, it’s more that he suddenly finds himself aware of just how very much unprepared he is for all of this. That he had thought he had prepared himself for what was to come seems pretty preposterous now.

There’s no use fretting over ‘could have’s or ‘should have’s, so Louis plasters on a smile as him and Harry make their way up the red carpet. They ignore the paparazzi and reporters calling questions after them, their sole focus being getting to the other boys who are waiting for them further up the red carpet. They’re to take arrival photos all of them together, and they have one red carpet interview with a reporter from E! before they are free to go inside.

It’s kind of comforting, actually, holding Harry’s hand, Louis thinks, as they catch up with the rest of the boys. It’s big and warm, somehow fitting perfectly with his own, like they were made to be clasped. He figures they’re going to be holding hands quite a bit over the next long while, so it’s probably a good thing.

They let go of each other as they line up to get their official arrival photos taken. Harry sneaks his hand around Louis’ waist, and Louis leans into him, smiling at the camera. There seems to be hundreds of cameras flashing in his face, and he feels positively blinded by the time they’re done. Harry’s hand slips into his again and he allows him to guide them towards the interview waiting for them.

“So,” she says, as the five of them arrange themselves around her. “I’m here with One Direction whose new single has its world premiere right here at the Teen Choice Awards later today. Are you excited boys?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, smiling. “Very excited. It’s been a while since we’ve performed, and getting to present the song in a setting like this for the first time is really ace. It’s a good way to come back, I think.”

The interviewer nods and turns to Zayn. “Your new single is called _Never_ _Changed_ , can you put a few words on it?”

“Well, it’s written by the five of us, and it’s pretty much just about what we’ve been through since meeting each other, and that despite all of the things we’ve been through, and all the things that have changed, the five of us are still as close as we ever were.”

“We’re all very excited to hear it. And your new album which drops… when exactly?”

“October 24th!” Niall supplies, grin large. “And then we’re starting our tour on the 10th of January, so we’re really excited for that. I think we’ve all missed touring a lot. It’s been nice with a break, but we’re very much ready to get back at it now.”

“That sounds fantastic, boys,” the interviewer smiles, her grin unnaturally big. “And I’m being told you have to move on now. I can’t let you leave without asking though,” she nods towards Harry and Louis’ intertwined fingers, “Is this the two of you confirming that the rumours are right, and that you are in a relationship?”

“Don’t know where you got that idea, love.” Louis says flippantly, as he flashes a toothy grin, before pulling Harry with him towards the entrance of the Gibson Amphitheatre, where the show was held, the other boys following them after making their hurried goodbyes.

“Lou,” Harry laughs, somewhat scandalized, burying his head in Louis’ neck as they wait to be escorted to their seats. “You’re _such_ a shit.”

Louis laughs, startled and fond. “What was I supposed to say, Haz? ‘Don’t confirm anything’” he mimics Simon Jones’ voice. “Like how is _that_ a solid plan? It’s not like we could deny it, it’s becoming official in a few hours.”

“I thought it was hilarious, Tommo,” Niall grins, hand moving up to adjust the tips of his now all brown hair (“I’m trying it out,” he said when Louis and the others had inquired as to whether he was going to die the tips again soon.).

“I—“ Louis starts to say, but he doesn’t get to finish due to the man who’s suddenly in front of them, gesturing for them to follow him while he murmurs quietly into his walkie-talkie.

They’re shown to their seats, and Louis revels in the fact that he’s finally allowed to actually sit next to Harry again without it being a national disaster. He leans into him, extracting his hand from Harry’s after giving it a little squeeze. Wouldn’t want to appear to be trying too hard – Louis hasn’t forgotten the amount of shit him and Eleanor used to get for not even being able to walk two steps without holding hands. He will not let this thing with Harry be as obviously fake as it was with El.

“That went alright, yeah?” he whispers, leaning into Harry, his mouth brushing the shell of his ear. He draws back slightly as he feels Harry nod, and the younger man turns his head towards him, and leans his forehead against it.

“Yes.” Harry breathes quietly, the two of them in their own world. “Yeah, it went alright. Not that bad, really.”

“Paps were insane!” Louis murmured. “Has it ever been like that before? When you were out with Taylor maybe? Or Kendall?”

“Not the least bit,” Harry shakes his head, moving Louis’ gently from side to side as well. “Never. But I guess two members of what used to be the biggest boy band kind of coming out together, is a pretty huge deal no matter how ‘yesterday’s news’ we are.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums in agreement. “It seems to have helped though, right? Like, we’re sold out for the first four shows in England, and getting there with the rest. It’s looking much better than it did a month ago.”

Harry pulls back and nods. “Yes, much better. ‘S nice. I’m—“ he trails off as quiet settles over the room in anticipation for the show to start. Louis turns his attention to the stage and doesn’t even flinch in surprise as Harry’s hand comes to rest on his thigh. He knows there will be cameras filming them, fans taking photos, and really, Harry’s hand looks natural there. Comfortable, none of the stiff edge that there had been to Louis’ when he was resting his on Eleanor’s thigh at that sodding Topshop fashion show.

The part of the show leading up to their performance passes by in a blur, Louis too nervous about their upcoming performance to pay too close attention to what is going on on the stage. Before he knows it, the same man who’d shown them to their seats has returned and is telling them that it’s time to get ready for the stage.

They sneak backstage to the changing rooms and quickly rid themselves of the clothes they’d arrived in. Louis keeps on his black skinny jeans and vans, but exchanges the denim jacket and white t-shirt for a black one with a scooping neck line. He looks over at Harry, who has exchanged his shirt for a white t-shirt with a dark blue dip-dye effect on the bottom. He’s currently attempting to tie the scarf Louis had gotten him into his curls, the fedora placed neatly on top of his pile of folded clothes.

“Need a hand?” Louis asks as he approaches him, having taken a look in the mirror and deemed his own appearance satisfactory.

Harry smiles brilliantly and holds out the blue scarf to Louis. “Please,” he states, turning his back to Louis again and locking eyes with him in the mirror.

Louis reaches up at the same time as Harry crouches down, their added efforts somewhat leaving them at a height difference that makes it possible for Louis to tie it in. It’s probably not comfortable for either of them, but it’s fast and effective, and soon Louis is turning him around to have a proper look at him. He reaches up to free a few curls from the scarf and then gives him a once over, taking in his entire appearance from the tips of his black Chelsea boots to the scarf on his head.

“You look fantastic, Haz.” He smiles genuinely, allowing the back of his finger to graze his cheek as it passes it. Harry’s eyes close briefly at the contact.

Harry’s eyes travel down Louis body, and he feels the oddest mixture of confident and edgy. It’s strange.

“You’re beautiful, Lou,” Harry says, taking a step back from him and smiling. “You always are.”

Louis finds himself beaming at the compliment. He’s always been a sucker for those, albeit not always sure how to react, particularly not when Harry is always so painfully sincere in everything he says. Smiling seems to be the best option, yes.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Zayn calls from across the room. “You ready to go on stage or should we give you a moment?”

Louis laughs and rolls his eyes, makes his way towards the others. “We’re ready. Let’s show them what we got, eh?”

They huddle up in front of the dressing room door and go through with their pre-gig ritual that they’d perfected long ago. Once they’re done, Louis can feel the nerves turned into adrenaline pumping through his body. He feels high, a little like he could take on the entire world right now. He’s missed the high of performing, and for the first time since their meeting with management, he feels like he’s found an inner calm. This is what he’s supposed to be doing. This is all he wants to do – all he’s ever wanted to do. That he gets to actually interact with Harry on stage now is just an added bonus.

All traces of nerves are gone when he steps onto the stage, the beginning notes of their new song ringing through the hall. It’s an upbeat song with sort of folk-y undertones, somewhat reminiscent of the style they’d dabbled with in _Happily_ and _Through the Dark_. It’s more mature, sure, but still true to who they are as a band, and most importantly, it’s just so, so much fun to perform.

He belts out his own part, the chorus, harmonises with Harry perfectly, and he’s one big smile. Just. It’s so much _fun_. Such a stark contrast to how performing had been before their break, when he had to always be so, so aware of where Harry was for the sole purpose of avoiding him, of not even looking in his direction. Now he can barely stop looking at Harry, constantly catching his eyes, sure that the big grin on Harry’s face is mirrored on his own.

It’s over much quicker than Louis would have liked, and he suddenly _can’t wait_ to get to perform all their new songs. And their old songs. For the tour, really, he can’t wait for the tour. Can’t help but think of how much fun it’s going to be this time around. Like it was during their ‘Up All Night’ tour, which had seemed like nothing but a fever dream throughout both the ‘Take Me Home’ tour and ‘Where We Are’ tour.

As soon as they’re off the stage, having exchanged a few quick words with the hosts, they fall together in one big pile of limbs. An oddly misshapen mound of humans in something that’s meant to somewhat resemble a hug. It’s raw, and uncoordinated, and so filled with love and affection, and this feeling of being so fucking proud of themselves and the other four because—because it was so bloody good. Their performance. So good. Vocals on point and no one tripping on stage, and not to mention what seemed to be a genuinely good reception to the song amongst the audience.

It’s everything they could have hoped for and more. Soon they’ll be able to see what the verdict really is on the song, articles and fan reports surely being written right this very moment, but until then they can one hundred percent just enjoy their good performance.

And they do. They get changed back into their original outfits and sit through the rest of the show before moving on to the after party together.

 

Louis has been here for about an hour now, having lost Harry and the other boys about half an hour ago. Last time he saw him, Harry was chatting with Miley Cyrus about something or other, and Louis didn’t exactly feel like that was a conversation he particularly wanted to interrupt. He’s chatting with a producer from LA himself, giddy from the praise their song and performance has been getting from everyone he’s talked to, as well as maybe one too many glasses of champagne. In only an hour or so, at what will be eight o’clock in the morning in London, the press release confirming their relationship will be released. Louis doesn’t linger on the thought for even two seconds.

It’s a nice party. There are a few fans here as well; people not directly affiliated with the music industry or anyone in it, but who have got connections, or money, or whatever to get into a party like this. Louis doesn’t think they’re here for One Direction, though he caught them looking at him a fair few times, but at any rate he’s just happy that they haven’t been bothering him. Not that he wouldn’t take a picture or two if they were, but yeah… it’s nice.

“Lou!” Harry’s excited voice comes suddenly, catching him quite by surprise. “Lou, where’ve you been? I’ve looked everywhere for you! Come,” he tugs at Louis’ wrist, smile wide and eyes glassy. Drunk. “Come on, babe. Dance with me? _Please_?”

Louis laughs, feels larger than life and so light, like happiness is filling him with air, like a hot air balloon, and any minute he might fly away. “Yes.” He says simply, effectively. Yes he wants to dance with Harry, wants to flail around with him, smile with him, laugh with him, just _be_ with him. Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes. A million, a _billion_ ‘yes’s. All the ‘yes’s in the _world_.

Harry tugs him towards the dance floor, and Louis calls a halfarsed goodbye over his shoulder to the guy he was talking to, and lets Harry lead him away. And it sort of feels like he’s floating, or flying, or a little bit of both. Definitely, definitely not like he’s walking. Are his legs even _moving?_ Everything is swimming sort of, the world turning and tipping and never standing still. His senses dulled until the point where everything is just a pleasant buzz. But in the midst of his drunken haze is Harry. Harry, who is so bright and so clear, like colour in a sea of black and white. Vibrant and happy, and Louis wonders for a moment if maybe the world does revolve around Harry Styles. Or maybe that’s just Louis’ world. Spinning around Harry like he’s the sun to Louis’ earth.  

They’re close as soon as they make it to the dance floor, pressed up against each other until all Louis can feel is Harry. He’s surrounded by Harry – Harry’s arms, and his smell, and his skin, and his very being. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything but Harry. And they’re close; so, so close. It’s like the rest of the world has ceased to exist, like all there is left is Louis and Harry. He quite thinks he could be content like this for the rest of his life, probably. He could think of worse fates.

They’re so close.

Louis doesn’t know how it happens, much like with their first kiss. Doesn’t know who instigates, who takes the first step, who closes the last distance. All he knows is that one moment they’re dancing close, and the next their lips are pressed together in a kiss.

And the feel of Harry’s mouth against his is simultaneously _not enough_ and _too much_. The way Harry’s jaw feels under his fingers, the way his plump lips fit perfectly against Louis’ thin once -- it’s all out of this world. He wants more _more_ more, and at the same time he wants to push Harry away, terrified by what he’s feeling because hey, Louis likes kissing. Louis has kissed his fair share of people, and he’s had some rather bloody fantastic kisses throughout his nearly twenty-five years of living, but it’s nothing, nothing like it is with Harry. He’s never ever felt like this from just kissing someone, and yeah, that’s fucking terrifying.

Also, Louis is drunk. So, so very, very drunk. And drunk Louis is definitely not known to make the best of decisions. There’s a tiny voice in the back of his head telling him that snogging his best mate might be very much on top of the list of ‘shit never to be done’.

Louis is a fucking master at ignoring that voice.

He tilts his head slightly, runs his tongue over Harry’s bottom lip, prompting him to open his mouth. He does so quite willingly, taking in Louis’ tongue, meeting it halfway with his own. Louis all but moans at the contact. Harry’s mouth is warm, and wet, and perfect, and Loui twines his fingers in his hair, pulls him closer, can’t get him close enough. Kisses, kisses, kisses him until he can’t possibly do so for even a split second longer without beginning to feel faint from the lack of air.

It’s not the first time Louis kisses Harry, but it’s without question the best, their adolescent kiss being child’s play in comparison. Harry’s not the first person he kisses, nor is he the first boy. It’s not the first. It’s not really any kind of first. But if it were the last, Louis could probably die a happy man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii.  
> Okay special note this time - I'm most likely not going to be able to post next Friday, as I'll be out all day and not sure when I'll return, but it'll be late. Chapter six will be up either late, late Friday my time or some time Saturday morning. Sorryyyy.
> 
> Also, if you're ever sitting back wondering what Harry thinks about it all, or why Louis did this or that, my ask box on my [tumblr](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com) is always open for character asks, so you can just come ask them yourself ;)
> 
> And lastly, if you like this, it'd mean a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot to me if you'd reblog my tumblr [masterpost](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/post/84515304225/infinitelymint-and-then-a-bit-pairing) for this fic *insert blushing emoji*
> 
> Kudos and comments are a writers bread and butter! 
> 
> See you next week! xxxx Heidi.


	7. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiiiiiiiiii.
> 
> Would you look at that? So I am posting Friday after all, funny that. 
> 
> As usual a massive, massive thank you to the wonderful [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com/) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com/) for looking this over! Thank you thank you thank you thank you. 
> 
> And, just, this fic would not be here right now if not for the wonderful, fantastic, brilliant [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com), who is also the woman responsible for the brilliant manip this features. Send some cyber-chocolate her way!
> 
> Credit for Harry's new twitter icon (and also one of the raddest manips in existence) goes to [Sam](http://hitopslou.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Hope you enjoy. xx

_Så tro på det vi har og når vejen ikke er klar_  
 _Og der er mørke dage - vi kan komme tilbage_  
 _Men lige nu er vi landet på så fint et sted_  
 _Mærk det lige - vi er endelig med_

(Marie Key – ”Uden Forsvar”)

**CHAPTER VI:**

Louis wakes up the day after the TCA’s alone, Harry’s side of the bed cold, indicating that the younger man got up a while ago. Louis reaches for his phone which lies on the bedside table. He ignores the millions of notifications he’s got – missed calls, and texts, and even a snapchat or two – and checks the time. 9.47. He groans out loud. He’s got a mild headache pressing on his temples and he’s still so, so tired. They hadn’t even stayed that late at the after party; it must be the jetlag still—

Wait a minute.

 _Shit_.

Suddenly last night’s events come rushing back to him, everything from the fact that he’s now publicly out, that the entire world knows he is gay, to the fact that everyone believes him to be in a relationship with Harry, to the fact that they kissed.

Again.

They’d kissed _again_.

And it’s not that it’s unexpected per se. Louis had come to terms with the fact that it was to happen at some point, but he’d never ever entertained the thought that maybe it would happen totally naturally, without any pressure from paps, or plans, or anything. At a time where it didn’t _have_ to happen, or where it didn’t exactly serve the purpose of furthering their stunt. They’d kissed because that was what had felt natural in the situation. Because they were drunk, and close, and they’d wanted to. And that’s potentially very, very awkward, Louis thinks.

Maybe that’s why Harry’s out of bed this early. Maybe he’s appalled by what they did, maybe he’s contemplating how to let Louis down easy, like he isn’t already perfectly aware that it wasn’t anything more than a snog between mates pretending to be boyfriends. It’s not like he even wants it to be more. It’s not. It’s really, _really_ not.

Like, it’s probably not a bad idea that they get used to kissing, make it seem as natural as possible. They definitely wouldn’t want to seem like they only kiss when in front of a camera, like it’s awkward and unfamiliar and—no. Definitely, definitely would not want that.

And anyway, it’s not like they can go out and snog anyone else – not like they can go out and kiss someone else for the next long, long while. And Louis isn’t thinking they should shag, no, that’d be awkward, probably, and they’re mates, so no, just no. But, like, a little snogging isn’t anything to get worked up about, right? Nothing to freak out about.

Surely Harry must think so too… _right?_

Louis looks down at his phone again and sees three notifications from twitter he’d overlooked previously amongst the many other notifications on his phone. He continues to ignore those, not quite ready to deal with the reality they represent, and focuses on the tweets. They’re all from Harry, tweeted earlier this morning in quick succession. Louis’ heart is suddenly beating a mile a minute, and he’s nervous. God, is he ever nervous. The press release is out now, he knows. It’s out there - in black and white - confirming that Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are in a romantic relationship. There must be thousands of articles already, the calls on his phone surely have no purpose but getting confirmation directly from him. Same with all the texts, surely.

He checks Harry’s tweets instead.

[ ](http://imgur.com/hTPK6zC)

[ ](http://imgur.com/2P5ass7)

[ ](http://imgur.com/QMIdSHP)

He draws in a deep breath, and it’s just… it’s _out_ _there_ now. It’s really out there. It’s been such an abstract concept through all of this, hard to comprehend, hard to imagine, sometimes even hard to take seriously. There’s a part of Louis who honestly never believed they’d get to this point. But here there are. _Here they are._ Shit. And they arrived hand in hand to an event, they’ve kissed, even if no one knows it, and there’s a press release confirming it now. It’s out there. No taking it back. No backing out. No second thoughts.

It’s terrifying.

And Harry… Harry got up this morning, left a sleeping Louis in bed, and wrote these tweets. How long did he spend agonizing over what to say? How scared was he when he pushed send? Why hadn’t he woken him up? He’d talked so much about needing Louis to be by his side throughout this, so why didn’t he ask for his support when doing something as massive as confirming his sexuality for the whole entire world to read?

Fuck, Louis’ headache is only increasing with all these thoughts and, really, maybe he should just man up and find Harry. Face the music, so to speak. If Harry’s still here, that is. God, Louis hopes so; doesn’t know where else he could have or would have gone, but the irrational fear that maybe he did leave festers in Louis’ stomach until he’s out of the bed and out of the bedroom door, before he’s even registered he’s moving.

He’s clad in a pair of pants and a ratty old t-shirt of Harry’s, nothing scandalous, so he’s got no qualms about walking through Harry’s house like this. They’re the only two here at any rate, so it’s not like it matters. Harry’s already seen him in practically every version he comes in anyway.

He checks the kitchen first but finds it empty, no sign of Harry except for the used mug by the sink, which Louis supposes must have contained his morning tea. He checks the living room next, then the bathroom and the study, and several of the spare rooms. Nothing. Harry isn’t to be found in any of them.

Louis feels panic clench his gut, starting to believe that maybe Harry did just up and leave without even leaving a message for him, and sweet Jesus that is not on. That is so, so not on. Just because they kissed?! Well, if that’s how Harry’s going to react, Louis has a thing or two he’d like to say to him. He doesn’t get to just leave Louis without so much as a bloody note, just because he’s got his knickers in a twist over a bloody kiss that would’ve had to have happened eventually anyhow, and—

Louis’ angry thoughts are cut off immediately as he steps out into the back garden and spots Harry by the pool. He’s sitting on the edge of it with his back to Louis and feet submerged in the water. He doesn’t hear him approach until he’s right behind him, sitting down next to him.

Harry looks tired, but attempts a weak smile anyway. “Morning, Lou,” he says, somewhat carefully, like he’s trying to gauge Louis’ mood before giving away too much of how he’s feeling himself.

“Morning, love,” Louis answers, smiling gently at him, and nudging his shoulder with his own. He absolutely refuses to let this be awkward.

Harry lets out a deep breath and turns slightly, leaning his head on Louis’ shoulder. He’s just in a pair of lavender swimming trunks, which is so very Harry it makes Louis’ smile widen. He’s tanned, and toned, and fucking fit. He’s also newly tattooed, and Louis has to internally roll his eyes, because Harry has always been so fucking shitty at proper aftercare for his tattoos. At least he seems to be keeping it shadowed by his own body this time, and it doesn’t seem like he has actually been in the pool with anything but his legs. Small victories.

Louis sneaks his arms around the younger man, resting his hand on his upper arm, holding him closer. Harry’s naked skin is hot to the touch, and a light sheen of sweat clings to him, indicating that he’s been sitting here for a while. Louis absentmindedly thinks that he hopes he’s remembered to put on sun cream, the sharp morning sun already having a burning effect.

They’re quiet for a moment, Louis isn’t sure what to say if he’s being entirely honest. He feels that it’s probably best to leave it up to Harry, let him speak when he’s ready and have the conversation about what he’s willing to talk about.

It only takes a minute or so of silence.  

“Are you going to pretend not to remember this time too?” Harry says quietly, so quietly that Louis almost doesn’t hear it over the sound of birds chirping and the neighbour’s gardener mowing their lawn. Harry keeps his head buried in Louis’ chest, his eyes closed, and for a moment Louis is quite confused as to what they’re talking about.

“No,” he says, as soon as he has caught on, surprised that Harry’s cut straight to the chase, no beating around the bush. “I remember. I think we should probably talk about it.”

“I—“ Harry starts, drawing back slightly to lock eyes with him, placing a hand against his chest to steady himself. “I don’t really know what to say to be honest.”

Louis shrugs and drops his hand from his arm, letting it slide down his back to rest just above the swimming trunks. “We were drunk,” he says, and then clears his throat. “We were drunk, and dancing close, and we’re faking a relationship. It’s not that strange, is it?”

Something unrecognizable shifts over Harry’s face for a moment before he drops his head, looking down at the tiles surrounding the pool. “No,” he says, “Not so strange, no.”

“In fact,” Louis continues, “It probably wouldn’t be a bad thing to get used to it.”

“What?” Harry looks up and locks eyes with Louis again. “What do you mean ‘get used to it’?”

For a second Louis worries he’s overstepped some sort of boundary he was unaware was there, but he continues, figures he’s already got the ball rolling, he might as well just continue what he started. And it’s a solid idea, it _is_. Logical. Yes.

“Well, we need to do it when it feels natural, right? Like when we’d do it if we really were in a relationship. So yesterday wasn’t that strange. Pretty sure we sold the idea of us being a couple pretty well. And we can’t snog anyone else for the next long while anyway. So if it feels like a good time to do so every now and then, I don’t really see the big deal there.” Louis stops rambling, quiets down and waits for Harry’s answer.

“Right,” Harry says after a moment, turning his attention to the sky, “No big deal. You’re right. Yeah, of course you’re right. Just wasn’t sure if you were going to fake amnesia again.” He smiles at Louis, but it’s all wrong. Louis doesn’t know why, can’t really see much of a difference, but it’s all _wrong_.

“Harry,” he says, not even sure where he’s going to take the sentence, what he’s going to say.

“There are pictures,” Harry interrupts him, picking up his phone from next to him. “Like from last night.” He scrolls a bit before handing Louis his phone. “From the after party. Of the two of us.”

Louis looks at the screen, and is met with a blurry photo, obviously taken from a distance, showing him and Harry, plastered against each other, clearly in the middle of a heated kiss.

“Oh,” Louis says, not sure how else to react. “This is… this is actually really good, right? Like, it doesn’t seem orchestrated at all. We’re proper good at this fake-lationship shit.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and lies down on the tiles, his feet still dangling over the edge of the pool, toes submerged in the water.

Louis lies down on his side, facing Harry, and decides to change the subject. “I read your tweets.”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment before turning his head to look at Louis. “Yeah, I… um, well, I just wanted to clear everything up, I think. Sort of give people a clarification from me, and just a tiny explanation, I guess. I’ve got a lot to answer for…”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Louis asks, voicing the question he’s been itching to ask since he read the tweets.

Harry shrugs. “I know jetlag always hits you pretty hard, figured I’d best let you sleep.”

Louis shakes his head as well as he can with his head still resting on the warm tiles. He runs his fingers down Harry’s cheek, stroking his thumb over his chin. “Baby, I’d have woken up for this.”

Harry’s smile is small but genuine. “It’s okay. I just tweeted it, I haven’t checked how people are reacting, what the articles are saying. Dunno what’s trending or anything.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, “We’ll look at it later, yeah? Let’s get some breakfast for now? Maybe a nap after that, you must still be exhausted.”

Harry nods and sits up, extracts his feet from the pool. “Yeah,” he says, making to stand up properly and holding out his hand to help up Louis once he’s done so. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

 

They enjoy the rest of their day doing absolutely nothing, knowing that as soon as they set off for their many interviews tomorrow, the kind of tranquillity they’re currently experiencing will be nothing but an unrealistic dream. They keep away from twitter and all things TV and internet, opting instead to alternate between napping, and eating, and lying in the garden or dipping in the pool. It’s nice, getting their batteries recharged so to speak, a little bit of calm before the storm that is undoubtedly waiting for them.  

When it’s time for them to go to bed, Harry is the first one to shower before Louis takes over the bathroom, going to wash off the left over traces of sun cream and sweat from the hot weather. When he returns to the bedroom, clean and damp, he sees Harry on his phone, brow furrowed.

“Harry,” Louis sighs, before crawling into the bed, this time foregoing the t-shirt, leaving him only in his pants. It’s hot here, even with the air conditioning, and Louis has never been all that good at sleeping when it’s too warm. “You shouldn’t be checking twitter, H. It doesn’t matter what they’re saying.”

Harry looks up guiltily and places the phone on the sheets covering his lap. “They’re being pretty nice,” he says, as Louis moves to retrieve his own phone from the chest of drawers where he’d left it before going to take a shower. “Like there are plenty of arseholes, but generally people are being pretty nice and supportive. And Jones sent a text; he says the overall media response is really positive. And we’re supposed to have been googled a lot more since yesterday than we have been in ages. So, all good. You know, considering.”

“That’s good,” Louis murmurs, distracted by the notification of Harry having tweeted yet another thing while Louis was in the shower. He calls up the tweet, curious as to what the younger man has to say this time. It’s a response to a fan tweet, he quickly discovers, and he checks that one too.

[ ](http://imgur.com/9BZynYE)

[ ](http://imgur.com/D0XoEf4)

Louis touches Harry’s small twitter icon, wanting to see it in a bigger version. It’s an older photo of the two of them, from one of the nights they’d spent with just the lads, where they’d been allowed to be friends without any restrictions. Louis shakes his head; leave it to Harry to do something like changing his twitter icon to a picture of the two of them. He really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s a good idea though, all things considered. And how are anyone but them and the other three boys to know just how old the photo is?

Louis goes to write a new tweet and tags Harry before typing out a few words and pushing send. He can’t help but smirk as Harry’s phone goes off, the younger man looking at him from their bed with raised eyebrows.

[ ](http://imgur.com/CB4oddk)

Harry laughs out loud when he sees it, his smile wide as he turns to his side in the bed, facing Louis. Louis gets under the covers and turns to face him too. He seems to be deep in concentration, trying to figure out how to answer him, and Louis is content to just watch him as he seems to type in a tweet only to delete it again a moment later with a shake of his head and a frown etched into his face. Finally Louis feels his phone vibrate in his hand, notifying him of the fact that he has tweeted a reply. He pulls it up, stupidly eager to see what he settled on.

[ ](http://imgur.com/NZvk6IT)

He chuckles and looks up at Harry. His eyes are sparkling and a dimple is visible in the cheek that isn’t pressed into the pillow. He seems tired too though, a sort of hazy quality to the way he’s looking at Louis. Louis’ hand moves to stroke back his hair quite of its own accord, and his eyes flutter shut at the contact. Louis smiles softly at him before extracting his hand.

“Get some sleep, yeah, Haz? You were up so early.”

Harry nods. “Night Lou,” he whispers, before letting his eyes fall shut.

Louis watches him for a few minutes, waits for his breathing to even out, waits for him to fall asleep. He goes to scroll through his camera roll then, looking through the photos he’s got of him and Harry, before finally settling on one a fan had taken of them during a ‘Take Me Home’ concert. Louis has always had a soft spot for that particular picture, and figures it’d be a good choice for his new twitter icon. He changes the photo before tweeting a reply to Harry, then finally putting his phone of the bedside table, and closing his eyes, letting sleep overtake him.

[ ](http://imgur.com/Lq60RuR)

 

It’s the next day that they boys find themselves in one interview after the other. It’s much like when they’re doing album promo, or when they were doing interviews for their movie, Louis thinks. They’re all sitting on a sofa together, Harry and Louis next to each other, and the journalists are coming one after another and interviewing them. It’s been a mixture of album and come back related questions and, of course, questions about Harry and Louis’ relationship.

They’ve only got one more interview to go through today, though they’re doing an interview with Rolling Stone tomorrow, and a cover shoot the day after. The American part of their coming out will be rounded off with a TV interview for E!, just him and Harry the day before flying back to London where more interviews are waiting for them, no doubt. Louis only knows that they have a live interview with Graham Norton on his Friday night chat show, this being the first aired interview with them, every other publication under strict orders not to publish anything until later.

Their music video is premiering in a few hours, and Louis is optimistic in light of the single reception, which luckily has been good overall. The music video is nice as well, he thinks, a collection of footage from their years as a band, moving chronologically from their X Factor days until now; including a lot of the boys’ private footage, therefore not editing out Harry and Louis’ friendship, and also including footage from the process of making the new album. Everything is edited together beautifully and gives a wonderful insight into the boys’ real relationships. Louis gets all nostalgic every time he sees it. It’s a lot like ‘This Is Us’ ought to have been, in his opinion.

The reception of their coming out has also generally been good, now that it’s been two days. The world is at a different place than when they’d first started the band. Not that it’s all rainbows and glitter, but there’s been much less backlash than Louis had thought there would be. Not that they are entirely free of it. Their twitter mentions are far from all supportive. Louis knows that there are more than a few people who have openly expressed how disgusted they were by the two of them, and there are also plenty of former fans who are feeling lied to and betrayed. Not without reason, really.

They seem to have gained a lot of new support too, though. Both of their twitter follower numbers have been climbing steadily upwards, and if Simon Jones is anything to go by, a lot of people outside the tween demographic have been expressing interest in them on social media, in light of their new song, and the reveal of Harry and Louis’ sexualities and relationship.

All in all, it could have gone a lot worse.

Currently they’re sitting across from a woman in her early thirties. She’s from some magazine or other, Louis is honestly not sure, having lost track of the interviewers’ individual employers long ago. They’ve exhausted the album questions, though honestly Louis could probably talk about that for days on end, and the interviewer is slowly edging into asking about Louis and Harry. It’s what she’s been waiting to get to all through the interview, Louis can tell. He can’t really blame her, it is juicy stuff after all. And if it helps the band, well…

They’re being recorded, the interviews, probably to be put up on the various websites of the publications along with the articles, so Louis is constantly aware of his body language. He’s got his arm thrown over the backrest of the sofa, resting gently on Harry’s shoulder. Harry is leaned into him slightly, his hand resting comfortably on Louis’ knee. It’s nice enough. And weird too, getting to be this affectionate with Harry in an interview, being actually encouraged to acknowledge each other, smile fondly, look at each other with what the internet has dubbed as ‘heart eyes’, but Louis honestly just thinks it’s his regular way of looking at Harry. It’s a bit ridiculous, but also a lot of fun.  

“So, Harry, Louis,” she says, catching Louis’ attention again. “You took the whole world by surprise at the Teen Choice Awards by arriving together hand in hand, did you not? And now an official press release has confirmed your relationship. How has the reaction been so far?”

“Fairly good, yeah,” Harry says, ducking his head slightly to smile at Louis. “Yeah, I mean, we were kind of nervous about it all, you know? But people have been very nice so far, and, yeah, it’s really, like, good to be able to just be with each other—“

“Without having to look over our shoulders all the time, yeah, or constantly think about every action to make sure it seems platonic.” Louis continues, returning Harry’s smile, before looking back at the interviewer. “It’s been better than we dared hope for, yeah.”

“Well, I think I speak for everyone when I say that we’re very happy for the two of you,” she says, smiling what appears to be genuinely.

“Hear, hear!” Niall cheers with a big grin, eliciting a laugh from all of them.

“Right,” the interviewer continues, consulting her notes. “The press release didn’t offer a lot of information beyond the fact that you were together, so could you tell us a bit about how long you’ve been a couple, how it happened and such?”

“Well, it’s been about a year now,” Louis starts.

“Yeah,” Harry continues, “Contrary to popular belief we didn’t get together before about six months into our hiatus, which I know must come as a shock to a lot of people—“

“Ah, yes. The so called Larry Stylinson shippers. The large portion of your fan base who believed the two of you to be involved in a relationship since the X Factor.”

“Exactly,” Louis nods, “And, I mean, we get why they thought so. We’ve always been really close, very affectionate. It’s a very easy conclusion to come to.”

“But there wasn’t any romantic feelings between the two of you back then?” She prods, leaning forward in her chair slightly.

Harry clears his throat. “Well,” he says, looking down in his lap, “I think, you know, I’ve always been in love with Lou… it’s, well, I don’t know, it’s just always been there? Like a part of me? But I never really thought I had a chance, if I’m honest. Yeah, so… feels a bit like I’ve loved him all my life sometimes. Feels a lot like a dream that I actually have him now, can call him mine.” He looks up then, catches Louis’ eyes with a brilliant smile, and Louis doesn’t know what to do. Can’t do anything but smile back, soft and fond, because what is he supposed to say to that? Harry is being a terrific actor, the interviewer eating up everything he says with great gusto.

“And you Louis?”

Louis tears his eyes from Harry’s and turns his attention back to the woman in front of them. “Well, no, I… I had a really hard time coming to terms with my sexuality, so I never really entertained the thought of Harry as anything but my best friend. Now I kind of wish I’d done so, I’d have loved to have spent the last few years with him, even if it would have had to have been in hiding.”

“That’s another thing I think many people are curious about – your sexualities. I’m not asking you to label yourself, but I am curious about the many high profile relationships you’ve been involved in, Harry, and your long term girlfriend, Louis.”

“I’ve never been anything but friends with the women I was linked with.” Harry states honestly, looking straight at the interviewer, speaking slowly but clearly. “It’s never been anything but mutually beneficial PR. I’ve always been very aware of my sexuality; like that I’m not romantically or sexually interested in women.”

“So you knew you were gay when you joined the X Factor?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I mean, like, I was really young, yeah? So I guess I hadn’t written off the possibility that I might meet a girl I’d be attracted to, and I wasn’t really out to anyone, but, well, it didn’t happen. I mean, I’ve never met a woman I was sexually attracted to. I, well, I met Louis? That was pretty much instant confirmation right there. Been in love with him pretty much since I was sixteen years old.”

Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s shoulder, and the younger boy sags further into him. It’s such a believable tale they’re spinning, nothing like with Eleanor when there were seven thousand different versions of how and when they met floating around, and Louis could never keep what was the official one straight.

“And how about you, Louis? You were in a three year relationship with a woman, were you not?”

Louis internally rolls his eyes, because for a woman claiming not to want them to label themselves, she sure is fishing.

“Well, I was in a relationship with Eleanor for a few months, yeah.” Harry squeezes his thigh. “Um, mostly, I think, because I was having such a hard time sorting myself out, and El is a lovely girl. But, yeah, a few months, and then we broke up. And we sort of kept up the appearance of dating, so to speak, because there was such heavy scrutiny on my relationship with Harry, and everyone was trying to label me when I’d barely figured it out myself, and was still trying to come to terms with the fact that I am exclusively into guys.”

“And here you are now,” the interviewer smiles, “What a journey, huh? There was a lot of speculation that the two of you stopped being friends back before your hiatus because you were rarely pictured together…”

“Yeah,” Louis confirms, “We were asked to take a step back from each other publicly back then…”

“But you never had a falling out?”

“Never.” Harry shakes his head.

“But surely it must have been difficult being in love with your best friend, Harry?”

“Of course it was,” Harry says, and Louis moves his hand from where it’s resting on his shoulder, to take his hand in his instead. “Yeah, of course it was awful a lot of the time. It hurt and, like, it was awful seeing Louis struggle so much, I think, but also… I mean, the alternative was always much worse, you know? Like, when it came down to it, that was always pretty much it; I’d much rather have Louis there as my best friend, than not have him at all. It still seems so incomprehensible that I get to be with him properly, really.” Louis squeezes his hand again, and leans in to place a kiss on his temple. Harry sags into him, letting out a deep breath. Louis has no clue where he is getting all of this from, but it seems so genuine, and the interviewer is drinking it up, like someone who has spent days in the desert without water.

“You’ve been very public about your romance lately.” She continues, obviously aware of the time and the list of questions she’s still hoping to have answered. “Even leading up to the coming out, you were spotted together a lot, looking intimate. And you’ve been tweeting quite a bit and posting a lot of pictures. How come this sudden upsurge after being together for so long?”

“Well, we were trying to hide that we were romantically involved for a year or so, and, well, it’s just nice now, not having to hide anything. I love Harry more than anything, and I don’t mind that the world knows. I just want to be open about how I feel about him.” Louis shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant about it all.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, “I mean, I think it just comes down to the fact that we no longer have to hide. It’s like, when there’ve been restrictions on how much you can interact with your boyfriend in public for so long, I think it’s just really nice to, like, do exactly what you want to without second guessing every action.”

“We’re really just trying out being like any other couple. It’s nice,” Louis supplies.

“They’re insufferable,” Zayn laughs, “Unbearable to be around.”

“Sickeningly in love!” Niall chimes in.

“Nauseating.” Liam agrees, nodding solemnly.

The interviewer turns to the other three boys now. “And how’s this been from your perspective as the ones closest to Louis and Harry?”

“Well,” Liam says, smiling at them, “It’s been really nice seeing them find happiness with each other, as sappy as that sounds. We all saw how tough it was for them to pretend not to be friends, so it’s nice to see them like they are now. Together and happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen them, probably.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. “I mean, I’ve always thought they ought to just get together meself, so I’ve wanted to get to say ‘I told you so’ for quite so time.”

The interviewer laughs, obviously charmed by Niall like the rest of the world. “And is it different now they’re together? Do you think it’s changed the dynamic of the band?”

”Well, there’s not really much of a difference, I don’t think,” Zayn says, shrugging, “I mean, they still pretty much act the same around us as they used to, only now every time they touch or interact, there’s this sort of added layer of intimacy to it and—“

“And now they kiss, too!” Niall interrupts, his face split into a gigantic grin.

“And that.” Zayn agrees. “But, really, they’re still Harry and Louis, it’s not like they treat us any differently. And despite what you may think, they do know how and when to be professional.”

“We’re all just happy for them.” Liam cements with a smile. “And we’re looking forward to coming out with the new album and going on tour. It’s going to be really great to be able to do so without having any secrets hidden or anything like that. We’re just genuinely looking forward to having fun all five of us together, like we used to before everything got complicated.”

The interviewer smiles, before locking eyes with someone behind the boys and giving a small nod. Louis assumes that means she’s been asked to wrap up the interview. “Alright, boys, one last question. Louis and Harry, this one is from a colleague of mine, I promised to ask, what do you have each other listed as in your phonebook?”

Louis lets out a surprised laugh, not having expected that one at all. “Well,” he says, grinning, “I think I’m going to disappoint a lot of people now, but Haz is actually just a banana emoji on my phone.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums in agreement, “I almost wish I had Louis as something ridiculously embarrassing now, but he’s just a football emoji on mine. Had to keep it covert, you know?”

“Maybe we ought to change it, eh, love? How do you feel about babycheeks?”

Harry laughs, eyes twinkling. “Dunno. I’m quite partial to snugglebum when it comes to you--”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Liam groans, and then turns to the interviewer. “Look at what you started now!”

“Sorry boys,” she giggles. “I’d love to continue this, but I’m afraid my time has run out, and I need to wrap this up. It was lovely speaking to you all, I’m very much looking forward to hearing your new album.”

There’s a lot of commotion following her words, shutting off the recorders and crew starting to pack up, as well as the boys thanking her for the interview. Louis leans back into the sofa and Harry sags into him, curling in on himself to fit more snugly against Louis.

“I was thinking we could go to the beach?” Harry murmurs, face pressed into his chest. “You could surf, like. If you wanted to.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, spying the interviewer out of the corner of his eye. She’s watching them with poorly concealed curiosity. Well. “Sounds nice, babe. Today? Now?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, tilting up his head to look at Louis. “The weather’s nice, yeah?”

“It is,” Louis agrees, before tilting his head down and capturing Harry’s lips in a brief kiss. If the younger man is surprised, he doesn’t show. All Louis receives in response is a fond smile and another quick peck on his lips. It should be weird kissing Harry, probably. It should be, but it isn’t. It’s like there’s a certain familiarity to it, a connection and intimacy Louis hasn’t experienced before. Which doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make any sense, because they have literally kissed less than a handful of times, and they are not even romantically interested in each other. And yet kissing Harry feels almost as natural and effortless as breathing.  

They haven’t kissed since the after party, and they haven’t talked about it since the morning after, but. Well. They’d agreed to do it when it felt natural, and had he been in an actual relationship, Louis would have done it then, and with the interviewer watching them like a hawk, Louis thinks it’s well justified. Besides, it’s not like Harry is complaining.

 

Twenty minutes later he finds himself in the passenger seat of Harry’s white Mercedes headed for the beach. Turns out Harry had a bag packed in the trunk of his car holding everything they’d need; only leaving the surfboard for Louis to rent when they get there. Sneaky lad.

Louis is all for these kinds of spontaneous trips, loves how they can just make a decision and go. Together. Go together in public, God; Louis still can’t believe it’s actually a thing. It seems so surreal after so long of never getting to do anything together outside each other’s houses.

They’re mostly quiet for the drive, letting the radio fill the silence as Harry manoeuvers them through the streets of Los Angeles. Louis is feeling quite content really, the weather nice and the company great, the interviews having gone better than expected. Soon they’ll be back in London, and he’s pretty sure they’ll at least have a few days off before it’s time to do interviews with Europe’s reporters. They’re probably the biggest coming out of the 21st century in all honesty, so Louis understands why everyone suddenly wants an interview, a picture, a quote.

“There might be paps here,” Harry says as he pulls into a parking spot, startling Louis from his own thoughts. Louis turns his attention fully to him, angling his body towards the younger boy. “I haven’t, like, called any… I _wouldn’t_. But. Well, I’d almost be surprised if there isn’t at least one…”

“It’s fine,” Louis assures him, reaching out to pet his thigh. “I’ll just have to put on my boyfriend mask. No worries, babe.”

Harry smiles and nods, shoulders sagging slightly. “Right,” he breathes. “Right. Let’s go then, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Louis confirms, getting out of the car. He pushes his sunglasses higher up on his nose, taking in his surroundings. It’s gorgeous here, much different from rainy London, but he knows that despite the sun and the palm trees, and the yellow beaches and azure blue water, it’ll never be quite like home.

“Hey,” Harry says, quietly, looking around to see if there’s anyone within listening range. “This is probably, like, the wrong time to bring this up, um… But, well, I was thinking earlier, like, Lou—I mean—I just-- what do we do when we get home?”

Louis furrows his brow, confused. “When we get home?”

“Yeah, I mean. Just. Like, we’ve been together for a year, yeah? That’s like. I mean. That’s the story, right? And we’d have moved in together, wouldn’t we, if it were true—I just, well, what do we do?”

Oh. _Oh._ Well, honestly Louis hadn’t considered that. It’s not technically like they’d know, really, the paps and the fans, if they were to say they lived together without doing so. But. Well, the fans aren’t the only ones they’re fooling – there is Louis’ family and many of their friends, people like Ben and James Corden and Nick, who would definitely be suspicious, if they were to stop by one of their houses, and find no indication that the other lived there too. It’s, well, it’s a complicated web they’re weaving, and the more they stick to the actual truth the better. The less likely are they to be revealed, to be caught in a lie, which would be disastrous. Definitely the end of the band. The end of their professional careers. No doubt.

“Well,” Louis says slowly, weighing his words before speaking, “I guess—I mean, we’re going on tour in four months—umm, we could-- I guess we could move in together until then. If you want? Then we’re sure no one will get suspicious.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment, and Louis spends three gruesome seconds thinking that he might have totally misunderstood what he was getting at. Then he smiles. Louis might breathe a literal sigh of relief. Might.

“Yeah, that’d make most sense, wouldn’t it? Kinda nice, too. I mean, I—well, I’ve kind of missed living with you. Yeah. So, nice, yeah. I’d like that.”

Louis nods and smiles. “Great then. At my place? That’d make most sense, right? Like, I suspect you’ve had Grimshaw over within the last year? It’d be painfully obvious that I’ve never lived there at any point within that time. We can say you’ve kept your house to keep up pretences.”

Harry smiles as he grabs the bag from the backseat of the car. “Makes sense,” he says, “And you don’t mind? Me moving in? You’re certain?”

Louis laughs and hip checks Harry as he comes up next to him. “Mate, I get good company and proper food out of this deal. Win win, innit? Can’t complain.”

“I always knew you only wanted me for my cooking skills,” Harry laughs, as they start making their way towards the beach, intent on finding some place to change and rent a surfboard for Louis.

“That and your ability to do the laundry.” Louis nods and laces his fingers with Harry’s.

Harry looks down at their hands, and then up at Louis, a small smile playing on his lips. He’s beautiful like this, Louis thinks, it’s like this whole game of pretending has somehow allowed Harry to be more himself in public which, he supposes, makes sense, since he no longer has to hide such a big part of who he is. It’s like he’s happier, more relaxed, feeling none of the stress his usual PR stunts had put on him.

It’s rubbing off on Louis.

It’s nothing like it was with Eleanor, it’s nothing like he had thought it would be. And now they’re moving in together, they’re kissing and holding hands, and it just feels so _natural_. Like, Louis knows that they’re not in love with each other, knows that they’re not actually in a relationship, but he’s never been this at ease with any other person, has never before met anyone who allowed him to be just one hundred percent himself. They might not be in love, but Harry is the most important person in Louis’ life.

It’s nice seeing him this happy. It’s nice thinking that maybe Louis had a large part in making him this happy.

Louis has always felt like there was a lot negative connotations with coming out, always expected it to be awful, but… it’s not. At all, really. There’s been nothing about coming out that’s made his life worse than it was before, nothing that could ever make him regret this decision. For all intents and purposes he’s happier now that he was before.

Thanks to Harry. It’s always thanks to Harry, isn’t it?

“I’m gonna go buy us something to drink,” Harry says, as they reach the beach. “If you get your surfboard, I’ll meet you by the changing room, yeah?”

Louis nods and cups Harry’s hip with his hand. “Sounds good.”

He leans up at the same time as Harry leans down, their lips meeting for a brief moment. It’s strange, that it’s so normal. So instinctual. It should be weird, kissing his best mate, right? Louis definitely thinks it should be weird. It’s just not, though. Like, there’s no explanation for it, Louis can’t give a reason or make sense of it really but, well, it is what it is. It’s nice though, that it’s not something that’s going to be awkward between them. If they can slip into a routine where they kiss when it’s necessary, surely they can stop again when that time comes.

Also, Harry is an excellent kisser, so. It’s not like they can kiss anyone else for the next however long, and it’s not like Louis has kissed anyone for a long while. It’s nice, this. It’s nice experiencing physical intimacy with someone again, and his and Harry’s chemistry has always been a science of its own

Besides, it’s not like they’re shagging. It’s not like they’re going to be shagging. Just some harmless kissing between mates. For business purposes. No worries. None.

Louis makes quick work of renting a surfboard from the small shop, Harry having already packed the wetsuit Louis has had at his LA place for years now, before making his way towards the line of small stalls set up along the beach where it’s possible to change. He finds Harry quickly enough, the younger boy sitting in the sand in front of one, waiting for him. He’s got the bag with their swimsuits on one side of him, and a plastic bag, which Louis assumes contains drinks and snacks, on the other. He gets up when he sees Louis, sends him a smile and nods towards the changing room behind him, which Louis takes to mean that it’s empty and ready for them.

They go in together, quickly changing into their swimming trunks, and Louis puts on the wetsuit over his.

“I saw what I’m pretty sure were a few paps out there,” Harry says before they exit, and, well, if anyone would know, it would be Harry. “Supposedly Cameron Diaz is surfing here right now, so I guess it’s a safe bet we’ll be papped too.”

Louis nods and smiles to reassure Harry. It seems that the younger boy is worried when it comes to Louis and the paparazzi, must remember how much he used to hate it with Eleanor, or whenever they were all together, really.

“I don’t mind,” he says, because it’s the truth. It _is_. “I don’t mind when it’s us, Harry. It hasn’t been that bad, really. I mean,” he amends, “They’re all a bunch of twats, but like, it’s been okay. You don’t have to be so worried all the time. I get that it’s a part of this, getting papped. A huge part, really. Pretty much the entire purpose. It’s fine.”

Harry nods and ducks his head, smiling. He seems placated by Louis’ reassurances, so he counts that one as a win.

They make their way out of the changing room, and find themselves a somewhat secluded piece of the beach, where Harry spreads their big beach towels while Louis prepares to go surfing. The waves are nice here, not quite like the ones he’d experienced when they were in Australia during their ‘Up All Night’ tour, but good nonetheless. It’s been ages since he last surfed, so it’s just great to be back amongst the waves at all.

He’s not entirely sure how long he keeps going, but he keeps at it until his body aches and he’s entirely exhausted. He’s floating on his board when he looks to the shore and sees Harry standing by the water, a snapback on backwards and a pair of sunglasses shielding his eyes from the harsh LA sun. He smiles and waves at him when he sees Louis looking at him. Louis waves back, and decides to paddle in and join him on the beach. He picks up his board and carries it under his arm the rest of the way, squinting slightly because of the sun.

“Hi, love,” Louis says, as Harry becomes within hearing distance.

Harry’s answer is a smile as he reaches out for him to come closer. “Hey,” he murmurs, a warm hand on his wet cheek, drawing him in for a kiss. This one is longer than the others they’ve shared today, their lips moulding together, moving softly. After a few moments Harry pulls back, only to place kisses along Louis’ jaw towards his ear. Louis’ hand, the one not holding the surfboard, has found its way to the dip of Harry’s waist, resting comfortably against his naked skin.

“There’s a pap over there,” Harry murmurs into his ear, like something taken out of a spy movie. Louis has to restrain himself not to look around trying to locate said paps. Instead he moves his hand to cup Harry’s cheek, turning his head slightly and connecting their lips again.

“Okay,” he says when he pulls away. “Best give him something to report back about, then.”

Harry laughs and leans up to peck him on the mouth again. “Put your surfboard back, babe. I’ll get some snacks ready for when you get back. We can lay in the sun a bit before we leave.”

Louis nods, a wicked grin on his face. “You’re a proper housewife, aren’t you?” he teases, tugging slightly at one of the curls peeking out from Harry’s snapback.

Harry shakes his head, smiling big, and takes a step back from him. “Just do what I say,” he smiles.

Louis nods, grin growing wider. “Yes, dear.”

With a fond shake of his head, Harry turns around and moves back to where he set up their stuff. Louis returns the surfboard to the shop as quickly as he can, before making his way back to him. His hair is wet and he can’t wait to get out of his wetsuit, so the faster he’s back the better, really. He pushes back his hair with one hand, trying to get the wet locks away from his face, and when looking slightly to his left, he finally spots the pap Harry was talking about. He’s lounging near them, though far enough away not to be within hearing range. He’s got his camera somewhat hidden under a towel it seems. When he looks back at Harry, he sees that the younger boy is holding up his phone, pointed at Louis, looking very much like he just took a picture. Louis shakes his head fondly while taking the last few steps towards him and plopping down on the towel meant for him.

He unzips his wetsuit and pulls it off his upper body, leaving himself bare chested, before turning to Harry. “Did you tweet about me again?” he enquires, reaching behind him to take his own phone out of the bag.

“Maybe,” Harry says, grinning.

Louis shakes his head in fond exasperation. “You’re gonna end up getting complaints, Haz. People don’t want to constantly be confronted with my ugly mug.”

Harry frowns and shakes his head, “’S not ugly,” he says, making Louis chuckle.

Louis pulls up twitter on his phone and sees Harry’s newest tweet, sent out only a minute ago.

[ ](http://imgur.com/g3sIKJ0)

[ ](http://imgur.com/HhCiXGD)

 

Louis raises an eyebrow at him, entirely unimpressed. “ _Surfer Girl_ , Harry? Really?”

Harry grins and shrugs before starting to open various containers with different food, making Louis realise just how hungry he actually is.

“It’s The Beach Boys, Louis. What’s not to love?”

Louis is tempted to hum a few lines of _Wouldn’t It Be Nice_ , but sticks to just rolling his eyes instead before taking a strawberry from the container Harry has just opened, and popping it in his mouth.

They talk idly about their day whilst they eat, and then about the next couple of days and getting some of Harry’s stuff moved into Louis’ house. They’re both lying on their sides, facing each other with the containers of food and the drinks Harry bought between them. Louis isn’t sure what angle the pap has on them, but it doesn’t really matter anyway, because it sort of has to be a constant act when they’re not in their own home. It was one of the things that had compromised Louis and Eleanor’s stunt the most, the fact that there was plenty of footage of them three steps apart as soon as they thought they were out of the range of paparazzi and fans.

So he feeds Harry strawberries and smears a carrot stick with guacamole on his nose, only to lean forward and kiss it off him whilst he’s laughing. Harry retaliates by attempting to stick a breadstick up Louis’ nose, which he captures in his mouth instead, taking a big, obnoxious bite.

When they’re done eating, Harry rolls onto his back and stretches lazily in the afternoon sun. He arches his back, drawing attention to the tanned skin of his chest and stomach. Louis stays on his side, watching him with a fond smile until the younger boy turns his attention back to him.

“Wanna go in the water before we head back?” he asks, eyes large and curious.

Louis nods and gets up to peel his wetsuit off entirely. He’s left in the swim trunks Harry had brought for him, and when he returns his attention to his surroundings, dumping his wetsuit unceremoniously on the sand though he knows he’ll loathe himself for it later, he finds Harry standing near, watching him. He holds out his hand for Louis, apparently ready to go as well, but Louis shakes his head.

A wicked idea comes to him, and he smiles brightly at him. “Race you there?” he asks, waiting a moment for recognition to bloom on Harry’s face before taking off down the beach towards the ocean.

“Hey!” he hears Harry laughing from behind him, chasing after him.

Louis’ laugh rings out loud and clear, uncontrolled and real. He makes it to the water first. It’s colder without the wetsuit to act as a barrier between his body and the cool water, but it’s not unbearable. Kind of nice against his sun heated skin.

Harry’s right behind him, and he throws his arms around Louis’ waist, lifting him and spinning him around, while loudly accusing him of cheating.

Louis mock gasps as Harry places his feet back on the ground and spins around to face him. Harry’s arms are still encircling him, and Louis moves his hands to hold him loosely around the neck.

“Did not,” he says.

Harry pulls him a fraction of an inch closer. “Did too,” he says. The water is up to their waists, the waves crashing around them. For a second they’re both quiet, eyes locked, standing so, so close. Then Harry murmurs, “I’m going to kiss you now,” and Louis’ only reply is to pull him closer by his neck. One of his hands slides from Harry’s neck to cup his cheek, while the other tangles itself in his wet curls. Harry’s hand slides up Louis’ chest to come to hold his head, and at some point his tongue makes its way into Louis’ mouth.

He traces his tongue over Harry’s teeth before meeting his tongue, tugging slightly at his curls, startling a moan from the younger boy.  Louis has to resist the urge to smirk in satisfaction that he elicited such a sound from the younger man, concentrating instead on continuing kissing him.

When they eventually break apart for the need of air, Louis isn’t sure how long they’ve been standing there. They’re still so close, still holding each other in the water, resting their foreheads against each other’s.

“You’re a good kisser,” Harry murmurs, and though Louis’ eyes are closed, he can practically hear the smile in his voice.

He decides to go with the truth in reply. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

“It’s not—“ Harry starts, “It’s not going to, like, ruin anything? Is it? Us. Kissing, you know?”

Louis takes a moment to answer, then, “I don’t think so. I mean, well, you’re my best mate, H. Kissing you is nice and all, but it’s just kissing. We both know it’s just kissing, there isn’t any sort of conflict of interest or whatever. It doesn’t really have to be that big and complicated, does it?”

“No…” Harry says, closing his eyes, “No, I guess not. It’s not like we can kiss anyone else, is it?” It’s a repeat of what Louis told him yesterday, but it’s probably the most valid point there is. They’re going to keep this up for at least the next six months, and they can’t risk getting caught or it getting out if they hook up with someone else, so a little kiss here and there only seems like the logical solution. Besides, they’re in public. They’re supposed to be a sickeningly in love couple, supposed to finally be out and proud, it only makes sense that they would be snogging left, right, and center.

“Exactly,” Louis confirms.

Harry doesn’t reply, burying his head in Louis’ wet hair instead. Louis holds him close, gently rubbing his back as the water moves around them.

“I’m sorry,” Louis murmurs eventually, taking a moment before clarifying, “I’m sorry that you’re saddled with this after all this closeting. You deserve to get to go out and find a boy to fall in love with, someone you can have an actual relationship with without any of this, and I—“

“Lou,” Harry interrupts, voice odd. “This is where I want to be.”

 

The last thing Louis sees before he goes to sleep that night is a tweet from Sugarscape, linking him to a video of him and Harry on the beach. He doesn’t watch it, knows all too well what he’ll see.

[ ](http://imgur.com/XdkywoC)

[ ](http://imgur.com/ZAnJzLw)

 

The next month passes in a flurry of interviews, and interviews, and a few more interviews. Louis and Harry do most with the other boys, but also a few by themselves. The general reception of their coming out continues to be positive, though they do occasionally get slurs shouted after them on the streets, and their mentions continue to be something that is best to stay out of, despite the amount of people who also tweet them supportive things. The demand for a Larry Stylinson sex tape trends worldwide on twitter more times than Louis dares think of, and according to PR their mentions in the media are still going up steadily.

Though people are somewhat over the shock of their coming out and the announcement of their relationship, it seems that there’s still nothing the media loves more than to cover some sort of story about Harry and Louis, whether it be that they’ve gone grocery shopping or that they were spotted ‘being intimate’ at a restaurant. Of course it ‘helps’ that they keep doing things that will put them in the papers, that being the intent of the whole charade after all.

The amount of ‘sources close to them’ that have commented on their ‘romance’ has also been ridiculous.

They’ve been living together since they returned from LA in the end of August, and here, nearly a month later, it almost feels like they’ve jumped into a time machine and gone back to the time when they were still living together. Almost.

They’ve continued sharing a bed, even though they technically don’t have to. Louis’ house has plenty of spare rooms, and people rarely stop by unannounced. So.

When Louis had raised the question of their sleeping arrangements though, Harry had confessed that he slept better when he wasn’t alone in the bed, and Louis definitely wasn’t one to protest. There is something about sleeping intertwined with Harry that always grounds him, sort of, the physical contact, or maybe just Harry’s very presence, having an instant calming effect on him. And it does help when people unaware of their relationship stop by, as there is no question that Louis’ bedroom is inhabited by two people.

Nick had come by about a week after they’d returned from America, coincidentally a day when Louis had been out with Zayn, but according to Harry – who, for some reason, continued to be steadfast in his decision not to tell Nick the truth – he hadn’t suspected a thing. According to Harry he is also happy for the two of them – Louis isn’t so sure he believes that one.

All in all, their cohabitation is going well. They’ve settled into a routine that works for them, learned how to live together under the circumstances they’re in now. They’ve even learned to work around the awkward aspects, like when they wake up with the other’s hard-on pressed against them. It’s only natural after all. It’s also perhaps the most depressing aspect of their arrangement, the fact that his own hand is the only action he’s going to see the next long while. Not that Louis (or Harry for that matter, as far as Louis is aware) ever saw that much action. It’s kind of difficult what with being so heavily closeted. But he hadn’t exactly been celibate for all those years after coming to terms with his sexuality either, showbiz having no shortage of other closeted celebrities, who it would be just as disastrous to be outed for. He has shagged his fair share of musicians, actors, and even a sports player or two. All one night stands, any prospects of an actual relationship being too complicated.

And even if it is an option that he hasn’t used more than a handful of times a year, there is still something to say about the possibility being taken away from him entirely. Even though he has always kind of had to do with jacking himself off in the shower, he has always known that the possibility for actual sex was there if he really, really needed it.

Now it isn’t.

He and Harry might have eased into a routine where kissing in public has become more than normal, but the very thought of doing more with him, or even bringing the kissing to their private lives, seems ludicrous. They aren’t in a relationship and, as Harry had put it, they’re not going to be required to do a sex tape or anything. Steering clear of shagging each other for the sole reason of just needing someone seems to be the smartest choice.

Doesn’t mean Louis doesn’t find himself so fucking horny and sexually frustrated most of the time, especially when Harry is such a good kisser and so bloody fit. Louis has kind of lost count of the amount of times he’s had to make out with Harry in a club or somewhere when they’ve been out, only for the thought of taking Harry back to bed now to cross his mind. He hardly thinks anyone can blame him.

He wakes up plastered to Harry’s back on a Wednesday towards the end of September, his hard cock pressed against the fabric of Harry’s tight boxers where they’re covering the cleft of his arse. He has to restrain himself not to grind up into the contact, desperate for more friction even through his haze of sleep. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t just go for it, a miracle that he still has some semblance of understanding through his sleep muddled brain that this is Harry, that he absolutely is not supposed to dry hump him until he comes.

He gets up instead, careful not to wake Harry, and goes to take a shower. They haven’t got anything official on today, except for Harry promising to pick Lux up from school and take her to the park while Lou has some errand to run. Louis figures he might as well tag along.

By the time he’s out of the shower Harry’s already up, having got the kettle on and is frying eggs in the kitchen. Louis dresses in a pair of comfortable trackies and a t-shirt before joining him and fixing their tea while Harry plates their breakfast.

They eat while checking this morning’s headlines on their respective iPad’s, seeing two One Direction related articles, one involving Zayn and Perrie, the other discussing Niall and Barbara, though both manage to mention Harry and Louis’ relationship.

“What are you doing today?” Harry asks as he’s rinsing their plates in the sink, before placing them in the dishwasher, while Louis is putting away the butter and juice.

“Thought I might tag along with you, if you don’t mind? Haven’t seen Lux in ages—I mean,” he backtracks, suddenly worried that Harry might have looked forward to a day without him, a day with just Lux. He is her godfather, after all. “I mean, unless you want to get in some quality time just the two of you. I get that. I might play some FIFA then, um, maybe I’ll call Stan, drive up to visit him, I don’t know, maybe—“

“Louis,” Harry interrupts his ramblings, laughing, “Louis. Jesus, stop. No, I don’t mind. I’d love it if you’d come along. So would Lux. She’s in a right football-phase, she’d probably appreciate it loads not only to have me to play against, I think.”

Louis hesitates for a second, unsure where the sudden bout of insecurity came from, before nodding. “Poor girl, having to settle for playing football against you.”

“Innit?” Harry laughs, shaking his head as he dries his hands on a towel.

“Tragedy, really.” Louis says, nodding seriously.

“Good thing you’ll be there to save the day, then.”

Louis hums in agreement and steps away from the refrigerator, which he had been leaning against. “I’m gonna go practice the piano, I think. I’m still having a bit of trouble with the bridge of _Little Things_ ,” he shrugs, “Come get me when you’re ready to leave, yeah?”

Harry nods, “Of course.”

Louis gives him a parting smile before making his way to the living room where he’s got his piano. It was actually Harry who had suggested having him play piano to a couple of their songs on tour, figuring it would be something the fans would gobble up. So far they’ve decided on performing _Little_ _Things_ , _Something_ _Great_ and one of the songs from their new album in piano versions. Louis wrote the song for their new album, so he’s already got that one down on the piano. It’s coincidentally also their third single, their second being an upbeat happy one that they shot the video for about a week ago. The third single, Louis’ song, is a slow ballad, haunting in its melody, and there’s talk about performing it at the X Factor finale in December, with Louis on piano as the only musical arrangement.

He sits down at the piano, running his fingers lightly over the keys, feeling the coldness underneath his fingers. He sighs, before placing his fingers over the keys he’s to use for the beginning of the song, then he starts to play.

For someone who had always loved the piano, but not really learned to play until recently, he thinks he’s got it down pretty well. His years in the music industry, where he has worked with melodies, and lyrics, and singing in general, has developed his sense of rhythm quite extensively.

He lets his fingers drift over the keys, letting the familiar melody of the song he’s been singing for something like four years wash over him. He works on it diligently, humming the melody while he plays over and over again, working on the bridge and the song overall, trying to reach the kind of familiarity he’s got with the songs he’s written himself. He doesn’t stop until he catches sight of Harry out of the corner of his eye. He stops playing and turns to the younger man.

“Time to go?”

“Almost,” Harry says, advancing into the room and sitting down on the piano stool next to Louis. “Figured we should probably have a sandwich before driving, though.”

Louis nods and makes to get up, only to be held down by Harry’s hand on his thigh. He looks up at him and cocks an eyebrow in question.

“Play it for me one more time?” Harry questions with a small grin. “I love it when you play.”

Louis smiles at the compliment before putting his fingers to the keys and starting to play. Harry hums while he does so, a soft smile dancing on his lips when Louis looks at him. He’s got his eyes closed. Louis knows that he was the one to approach Ed about doing a song for their second album, knows that Ed had talked _Little_ _Things_ over with Harry before sitting down to write it properly, knows that the song remains special to Harry even now, even after having written so many songs himself.

When he’s finishes, finger lingering on the last key, he looks up at him, meeting the younger man’s eyes as he slowly opens his own.

“Good,” Harry says eventually. “’S good, Lou. You’re so good. It’s gonna be amazing live, this, can’t wait to hear it.”

Louis nods, hoping that he’ll gain the kind of familiarity with it that he won’t fear messing up live. Tour’s still months off though, doesn’t start until January, rehearsals not beginning before the middle of November, so he’s got plenty of time to get used to playing it. And learning _Something_ _Great_ , which he technically hasn’t even started with yet.

They make their way to the kitchen and eat the sandwiches Harry had prepared, before gathering the things they’ll need for their time with Lux. Once Harry decides they’ve got everything, they head to Louis’ car. Louis gets into the driver’s seat and navigates the car down the streets while Harry gives him directions to Lux’s school.

They both get out of the car and walk to her school hand in hand. She’s not difficult to spot, running at them as soon as she sees them, and jumping into Harry’s waiting arms. They’ve clearly missed each other, and Louis stays in the background as the two reunite. He hasn’t seen Lux in a while, doubts she even remembers who he is beyond what Lou and Harry have probably told her about the band. He’s surprised then, when as soon as Harry sets her down, she flings herself at Louis to give him a fierce hug.

“Hi, love,” Louis says quietly into her ear as they hug, and he looks up to get eye contact with Harry who is watching the two of them fondly.

Looking past Harry he sees several people with their phones out, pointing at the three of them. He pulls away from Lux and tries to shield her from their sight with his body. At least they all have the decency to stay away from the three of them, surprising as it is.

He keeps a hand on Lux’s shoulder, as he leans up and whisper in Harry’s ear, “I think we should just drop the park idea and go back to the house and play.”

Harry nods, evidently having seen the many camera phones as well. “Yeah,” he agrees, “Let’s go.”

They each grab one of Lux’s hands and make their way to Louis’ car, chatting idly about her day at school.

The day passes quickly, honestly the most fun Louis has had in ages. Lux is so enthusiastic and happy, and it transfers to both Louis and Harry. By the time they go in to start dinner, they’re frozen from the English autumn but all three of them have huge smiles painted on their faces.

They wash the dirt off their hands and make their way to the kitchen, all three of them. Harry puts Lux and Louis to work chopping vegetables, while he marinates the meat. Lou and Tom are coming for dinner before taking Lux home with them, and though Lou is one of the few on their team who knows about their arrangement, and Louis suspects Tom knows about it by extension, they’ll still have to somewhat keep up appearances since Lux, much likes Louis’ siblings, is much, much too young to understand the truth.

Louis is in the middle of chopping carrots with her when the doorbell rings. She hurries off the stool she’s been standing on in order to reach the counter, and makes her way towards the door, Louis right behind her.

Turns out they’ve timed it all perfectly, Harry putting the food on the table as Lou and Tom make their way into the dining room. It’s an impressive spread like always; potatoes, and meat, and a salad which Lux proudly tells her parents she helped make.

It’s all mindless chatter from there, the four adults steering clear of the issue of Harry and Louis’ situation because of Lux. It’s a nice evening, all in all, a good excuse to just not think about what they’re doing, Lux working as a wonderful distraction.

She also serves to remind Louis, once again, how much he wants children, not right this second, but he can’t help but remember that he’s really only getting older. It’s kind of sad, sitting here as a nearly twenty-five year old gay man in a fake relationship, he tries not to think about it too much.

When the three of them leave it’s late, Lux having fallen asleep in one of Louis’ spare rooms, and Tom carries her to their car while Lou bids the two of them a proper goodbye. As soon as they’re out of the door Harry sags against it, smiling tiredly up at Louis.

“I’m pooped,” he says, running a hand through his unruly curls.

Louis chuckles and stretches, arching his back. “Yeah, me too.”

Harry nods his head before stepping away from the door, moving towards the stairs that’ll lead them upstairs to where their bedroom is. “Let’s go to bed, huh?”

Louis follows him silently, the two of them slipping into their usual pre-bedtime routine which they’ve perfected over the last month. Louis gets into bed first, fiddling with his phone while Harry strips down to his boxers. Once Harry deems himself ready for bed, he bends over it to pull back the covers on his side, and Louis sees his opportunity to snap a photo, thinking of it as fan service of the highest order. Just as he’s about to take it, Harry notices, and he raises his finger, pointing it at Louis.

“Babe, you better not be taking a—“ the sound of the camera shutter goes off “—picture of me right now.” He ends with a sigh.

Louis grins, entirely unapologetic. He settles back against his pillows, almost sighing as the softness engulfs him, and sets about posting a tweet.

A moment later Harry’s phone buzzes with a notification from across the room, making the younger boy get up to get it.

[ ](http://imgur.com/8wRkg5a)

[ ](http://imgur.com/GvBrH5O)

Louis is quite satisfied with himself, if he has to say so. He goes back to playing QuizUp against Zayn, answering two out of three correctly in the sports category and thereby keeping the two of them tied, before his phone buzzes with a twitter notification. He looks up at Harry who is still standing across the room, leaning against the wall, his hands crossed in front of him and his phone clutched in one. He’s smirking at him, and Louis tries to give him his most unimpressed look before looking down to check the tweet.

[](http://imgur.com/QbNFmar)

He contemplates what to write for a moment, looking up and catching Harry’s eye, both of them aware of how this somehow turned into a sort of competition. They are ridiculous, really.

He looks away from Harry first, having a tweet to focus on, and with a small smile types out something that he very much doubts Harry is expecting.

[ ](http://imgur.com/1Syn3aT)

It only takes Harry a moment to check the tweet and then look up at Louis with raised eyebrows.

“Babycheeks? Really?”

Louis laughs gleefully before snuggling further into the bed. “Well,” he says after a moment’s silence. “Did we not agree to break out the pet names?”

Harry pushes away from the wall, shaking his head. There’s a small smile playing on his lips though, so Louis figures they’re alright. He goes to close the curtains, darkening the room, before he takes his phone again and tweets Louis back.

Louis has his phone ready, curious to see what he’ll reply, and checks it as soon as the notification ticks in.

[ ](http://imgur.com/eKCbxb5)

He lets out a surprised laugh, remembering their first interview after coming out. “The fans are going to have a field day with this one,” he states with a smirk directed at Harry, who nods, smile mirrored.

“It feels kind of mean, but I also kind of love riling them up…” Harry confesses, making his way to the bed as Louis types in a tweet in reply before pushing send.

Harry’s phone goes off just as he’s sat down on the bed.

[ ](http://imgur.com/Z5DcsMs)

Harry laughs out loud when he reads the tweet, and Louis presses a satisfied smile into his pillow. The last thing he registers before falling asleep is Harry’s reply.

[ ](http://imgur.com/ZwKUfgj)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow. This was a proper drag to get up - all those tweets took ages and I'm proper knackered now. Let me know what you think?
> 
> Now...... bad news. I'm not going to update next week because I'll be in the middle of writing a week long exam in theatre and culture politics, sorry. Sorry sorry sorry sorry. Next update will be two weeks from now (it's some chapter you'll be getting, sooo.......) 
> 
> If you need more And Then a Bit until then, check out the [character asks](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/tagged/atab-character-asks), or send some of your own if there's something you're curious about. 
> 
> It'd also mean a lot if you'd reblog the [masterpost](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/post/85244556065/infinitelymint-and-then-a-bit-pairing) for the fic. Or just come say hi on [tumblr](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/).
> 
> See you here in two weeks xx


	8. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always a massive, massive thank you to [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com/) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com/) for making this readable.
> 
> And to [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com) for giving me a virtual pat on the head, and encouraging me to leave the flat to buy chocolate whenever this or my exam looked too glum. You're a babe!
> 
> Thank you to all of you who read it, and leave comments, and kudos, and come talk to me on tumblr - means a very much a lot. And thank you for your patience, I hope this chapter will help with the fact that there wasn't one last week.
> 
> Enjoy?

_Billedet blev taget på en sommerdag_  
 _Jeg finder det frem og alting vender tilbage_  
 _Os to i parken i morgenens tåge_  
 _Jeg viser dig mit billede og du hvisker til mig_  
 _Jeg har aldrig holdt af nogen som jeg holder af dig  
_ _Du ved hvad jeg tænker uden jeg siger noget_

_(Marie Key – ”De her dage”)_

**CHAPTER VII:**

“Okay,” Ben says as he steps back into the room. “Right. We’re just gonna talk the concept over one last time before we start filming, yeah?” 

Louis nods from the sofa where he’s sitting next to Harry, cuddled up in the younger man’s embrace. It’s early, like really, really early (alright, it’s 9.30 in the morning, but it feels very, very early to Louis, and they’ve been up for a while, okay?), and Louis is just tired. So, so tired. Harry is warm, and soft, and comfortable, and they’re surrounded by people they’re supposed to look like a couple in front of, so Harry’s arms are totally fair game.

They’re shooting the video for the third and last single of their new album today. The album is being released tomorrow, and Louis is feeling quite optimistic about it. Their second video and single were released two weeks ago, and with two videos and two singles out, the reception so far has been beyond everything they dared hope for before Modest! had suggested their charade. The massive media attention given to Harry and Louis, and PR’s tireless work to make sure that their new album and tour was mentioned in each and every one of the articles discussing their relationship, seems to have paid off. Thank God. Louis would hate to think that they were doing all of this for the good of nothing.

The video they’re about to shoot is the ballad out of the three of their singles, a song Louis wrote himself. He’s quite honoured that it’s been chosen as a single, to be honest. It’s to be a black and white video, as far as Louis has understood, somewhat reminiscent of the _Little_ _Things_ one. All of them have just gone through make up, hair, and wardrobe, with the only thing left to do being waiting for the actual shooting to begin.

“So,” Ben says, drawing Louis’ attention back to him. They had considered if they wanted to try their hands at a new director for their new videos, but had ultimately decided to keep Ben, mostly out of loyalty, probably. He was good, though, Ben. Still. The two first videos he’d made for this album had been great, so Louis has high hopes for this as well. The song is kind of his baby.

“As you know, we’re going with no visible scenery or props except for the piano Louis will be at. We’re going for sentimentality, we’re going for the dramatic effect. We’re putting you in a kind of black box, or white box really, and I want you different places, sometimes a couple of you together, sometimes all alone, and then you’re all moving to stand around Louis’ piano towards the end of the song. We’ll be playing around a lot with light and shadows.

Harry, I think we’re going to try to place you on the piano stool with Louis. I’m supposed to make sure there’s plenty of love in the air between you two,” He pauses and looks meaningfully at the way they’re curled around each other on the sofa, “But I suppose that won’t be too difficult. How you managed to hide this for a year without any of us suspecting is beyond me.”

Louis offers him a sheepish smile while he reaches down to take Harry’s hand, squeezing gently. They’d discussed it early, who they were going to tell the truth to, and they’d both agreed that it was smartest to let as few people as possible know. The only two on their team who would know were Lou and Paul, everyone else knew just as much as the general public. It was best that way, least amount of risk. Didn’t mean it felt good lying to their close friends.

“Anyway,” Ben continues, “Let’s get this show on the road. Come on, boys.” He motions with his arm towards the door he just entered through. They get up one by one, stretching and yawning, and sluggishly make their way towards the door. Louis will never understand why an inside shoot needs to start this early, but here they are.

The location is pretty boring compared to what they’ve previously had to work with, it being literally just a big empty room where everything from the walls, to the ceiling, to the floor is white. To the left of the room stands a big, beautiful piano. It’s sleek and black, but with a sort of timeless feel to it.

Louis moves towards it automatically, running his hand over its shiny surface when he reaches it. He feels someone come up behind him, identifies the person as Harry as soon as he feels hands snake around his middle and lips press against the back of his head. He feels him move his head, hooking it over his shoulder until their cheeks are pressed together.

“The camera is already shooting ‘behind the scenes’ footage.” Harry murmurs, quiet enough that no one but Louis will hear.

Louis turns around in his embrace so that they’re standing close, chests pressed together. “Okay,” he says, hands resting on Harry’s shoulders.

Harry smiles at him softly, hands still around him, holding him loosely. “So, I was thinking,” he starts, dropping his hands and taking a step back, “That maybe you could try teaching me the chorus while we wait to start?”

Louis grins, totally on board with that suggestion. He’s tried teaching Harry to play small melodies on the piano about a billion and one times, but the younger man just doesn’t seem to possess the skills required for playing. He’s definitely much more of a guitar man, which he has mastered quite well over the past few years. 

“Sit down, love,” Louis instructs, gesturing towards the stool. He moves towards it himself, sitting down next to Harry and begins to instruct him as well as he can. It’s just as hopeless as Louis knew it would be, but they’re both a laughing, giggling mess all the way through, which he knows must translate well onto the camera. Ben definitely can’t accuse them of not giving him anything to work with.

Their impromptu piano lesson must end sooner rather than later though, as Ben deems everyone ready to begin. There’s always so much waiting around during video shoots, and Louis finds it especially hard to pass time when they’re supposed to be quiet on top of waiting, can’t even have a conversation. He supposes he could go into the other room, but on the other hand you never know when it’s your time to be filmed, and you’ll have an entire angry filming crew after you if you’re nowhere to be found. Plus, they’re constantly shooting footage for the behind the scenes video, and that works rather badly if they aren’t present in the room.

Somehow he and Harry end up lying on the floor together, Louis’ head resting against Harry’s sternum. Harry is running his fingers through the hairs at his neck, careful not to ruin what Lou spent half an hour perfecting. It’s very peaceful really, lulling Louis straight into slumber.

He isn’t sure how long it really is, but it only feels like seconds before he’s roused awake by a hand on his shoulder. Apparently it’s time to film the part where he’s alone by the piano, the opening sequence, and he’s not really required to do much but play the melody on the piano while looking sombre, smouldering a bit at the camera. It’s quick work.

Basically the entire shoot goes by quickly. It’s mainly just sitting around and singing, the real work being in the editing of it. Louis and Harry film the part where they’re by the piano, just the two of them, without trouble, all they’re required to do being to look at each other fondly and sing. It’s not exactly difficult to do. Eventually they make it to the part where they film all five of them together surrounding the piano, and eventually Ben calls it a day.

They’ve only had a short break for lunch halfway through, so Louis is happy to finally be done, and ready to curl up in front of the TV with a bowl of spaghetti and a beer or something. Once they’ve gathered their things, he links his fingers with Harry’s, sure that quite the crowd must have assembled outside the studio they’re in. Louis will never understand how the fans always manage to find them wherever they are, even now when, although they’ve been aiming towards a more mature audience, they still seem to attract the girls (and boys) in their late teens, who apparently have nothing better to do than stake out their locations in the hope of a photo or an autograph,   but they do, and the dedication has to be impressive if nothing else.

His suspicions are confirmed a few minutes later when they exit the building to find a group of people waiting. He has long ago come to accept the fact that he’s just not the kind of person who will always think it’s brilliant to sign autographs and pose for pictures. Some days it’s just the very, _very_ last thing you want to do. It’s easier when Harry’s there with him, more tolerable, but still. Today is one of those days where Louis would rather curl up in a corner and never see nor speak to a stranger ever again.

Harry seems to notice somehow, squeezing his hand and gently stroking the back of it with his thumb. It’s soothing. It’s nice, yes.

“It’ll be over with quickly, yeah?” Harry murmurs quietly, intended for Louis’ ears only.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes. “Sorry. I’m just…”

“Don’t worry, Lou,” He smiles tentatively, looking sideways and catching his eyes. “Let’s just get home, yeah?”

And somehow they do. It’s mainly to Harry’s credit probably, as he somehow manages to appease the fans and Louis’ need to get home as quickly as possible, simultaneously. True miracle worker that boy, really. Louis is impressed. Always so impressed. Harry is an impressive human. The most impressive, probably. Yes.

And they were perfectly nice and polite, most of the fans who’d been waiting outside, so that’s not even it, it’s just, like, well. Would they be here if not for the fact that Harry and he had announced their ‘relationship’? Would they just have scoffed at One Direction, if their interests hadn’t been piqued by their coming out?

Louis doesn’t know.

It doesn’t really matter, though, is the thing. They’re here now, and _that’s_ what matters, isn’t it? It is. It really, really is.

But it’s been two months, and it still hits Louis with crippling force sometimes, the fact that they’re out, that he’s out. Holy, fucking shit, he’s _out_. Some days he wants nothing more than to curl up under the covers in his bed, can’t bear the thought of facing the world.

Other days he feels so fucking relieved. So fucking happy that he can just be himself. So grateful to Harry, and in some twisted way to management and PR, for giving him the kick that he needed in order to be who he really is. He’s not sure he would or could have ever gotten to this point alone, but most days he’s so, so happy that he is.

Once they’re home, Harry feeds him and they cuddle up on the sofa to watch a movie, before dragging their exhausted bodies to bed earlier than Louis would ever admit to going to sleep. It’s all good.

 

 

“Louis Tomlinson,” Louis hears someone shout out laughingly from behind him. He turns around and is met with Greg James. It’s been ages since they’ve seen each other, but of course Greg is here now. It’s the release party for their album, after all, and as far as Louis knows, most of Radio 1 has been invited.

“Mate,” Louis smiles, as Greg sidles up next to him by the bar, gesturing to the bartender to give him a beer. “Been ages, hasn’t it? You good?”

“Absolutely,” Greg grins, taking a drink out of the bottle he’s just been handed. “So are you, I’m guessing. New album, new tour soon… new boyfriend?”

Louis shrugs, smiling gently. “Not so new the last one.”

“New for us, innit? Had all of us fooled for a year, impressive that. Nick is quite put out that he couldn’t tell. It’s good?”

“Yeah,” Louis confirms. “Yeah, it’s really good.”

“Heard your new album too, bro. It’s sick. Gonna be a massive hit, I’m sure.”

“Hope so.” Louis nods, fiddling with the label on his bottle of beer.

“You should come by! Yeah. Do some innuendo bingo with me, bring the lads, or just bring Harry, the listeners would love to have you and Harry in—“

“Someone say my name?” A voice interrupts Greg from behind Louis. Harry’s voice. Louis twists his head to see him walking closer, until he’s right behind Louis, settling his arms around his waist and bending down a little to give him a kiss in greeting, Louis twisting his head around to reach him.

“Was just telling Louis the two of you ought to come do some innuendo bingo with me,” Greg fills Harry in with a smile.

“Oh, yeah, mate,” he gushes, smile big as he leans his head against Louis’. “That’d be sick.”

“Brilliant,” Greg grins, before pushing away from the bar, beer in hand. “I’ll give you a call sometime, yeah? It was great catching up, Louis. And Harry.” He takes a step away, and then pauses before turning all the way around. “Oh,” he says. “I’m really happy for you, by the way. Really happy.” He gives them a nod and a wave, and then he disappears into the crowd.

There are so many people here tonight. So many. All here to celebrate the release of their album, and it’s a little bit mad to think that it’s actually out there now. Released this morning. This very minute there are people all over the world who are listening to it. There are critics listening to it as Louis stands here with Harry, sipping on his beer, moving closer and closer to tipsy. Tomorrow he’s going to wake up to hopefully no hangover and one review after the next, giving their professional opinion on the album they’ve worked their arses off on. It’s always nerve-wracking, but even more so with this album, when every song on there is their own, every decision made bears their print. This is their album, through and through.

 He turns around in Harry’s arms so that they’re facing each other, resting his hands on Harry’s chest.

“Hi,” Harry says, small smile playing on his lips.

“Hi.”

“I didn’t interrupt anything,” he looks concerned suddenly. “Did I?”

Louis shakes his head to reassure the younger man. “Nope,” he says, popping the p. “We really were just talking about innuendo bingo.”

“That’d be fun, right? I think that’d be fun.”

“Sure,” Louis nods, grinning, because _yes!_ it would be fun. “We should definitely suggest it to PR.”

Harry nods, but doesn’t comment further. Louis suddenly wonders what he actually wanted since he came to find him. He voices this out loud.

“Dunno,” Harry shrugs, looking slightly bashful. “I just hadn’t seen you in a while, wanted to see where you were at.”

Louis grins back at him, spreading his arms. “Here I am.”

“Here you are.” A moment, then, “Hey—do you maybe wanna get really, really drunk?”

That startles a laugh out of Louis, and he frees himself from Harry’s arms and flags down the bartender. Turning to Harry, he raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Shots?”

Harry nods, confirms. “Bring it on, Tomlinson.”

Everything beyond that is a bit fuzzy around the edges.

 

So. Louis is drunk. Or, well, drunk doesn’t even begin to cover it. Louis is pissed. Shit-faced. Sloshed, bombed, plastered, and any other adjective you can find that might accurately convey just how much alcohol he’s consumed. He’s not picky.  

It’s all Harry’s fault anyway. Like, probably. Great oaf of a person that he is. All Harry’s fault. It’s unfair, actually, yes. Definitely unfair. Like, there should be some sort of rule set regarding size difference in drinking competitions to make up for the extra amount of alcohol big people can drink. It’s preposterous that there isn’t, is what it is.

So, yes. Conclusion: Harry’s fault.

Not that the younger man is faring much better than Louis, if truth be told. Last time Louis had seen him, he was standing on top of a table with Niall, belting out traditional Irish songs. Harry didn’t know the words, of course. A sight for sore eyes, really.

This party has been smashing it, yes, one for the ages, and record books, and worthy of the Queen—or, err, something. Good. Yes. Everything has just been great. Is great. Present tense, currently ongoing. Louis is never going to bed, no. This party isn’t overrated, but sleep definitely is. Maybe if he never goes to sleep, this party, this night, will never end, and they won’t have to get up early tomorrow with massive headaches to get the world’s verdict on their latest album.

Partying until the end of eternity doesn’t sound so bad, Louis thinks. He’s got Harry and his boys, he’s got music and beer, he’s got—

Nick Grimshaw.

“Tomlinson,” the older man greets him, as he sits down in the booth Louis has been occupying in an attempt to make the world stop spinning. Louis is just on the wrong, or the right, depending how you look at it, side of too drunk to tackle Nick Grimshaw.  

“Grimshaw,” he says, thankfully not slurring, because even though the man opposite him is clearly just as intoxicated as he is, being drunk is a weakness, and you do not reveal your weaknesses to your enemies… or something. Fuck. Louis really is drunk.

“Tomlinson,” Nick repeats, grinning.

Louis is about to say something (rude, probably, let’s be honest), but then Nick’s entire demeanour changes, going from snooty to serious in two seconds flat.

“Louis,” he says, seriously, which, well, Louis wasn’t aware Nick Grimshaw actually knew how to be serious (or that he knew Louis’ name). (That was mean and uncalled for, but Louis is drunk. And. Sorry.)

“We haven’t talked since you and Harold came out with your relationship – and let’s be clear here, mate, I do so blame you for Harry keeping me in the dark about this for a fucking year – but,” he clears his throat, avoiding eye contact with Louis in favour of examining the sticky table between them. A moment passes, and then he looks up again, catches his eyes once more. He looks so earnest, which is strange. So strange. Such an odd expression to bear here in the middle of a crowded club at god knows what time of the night, when he’s got a shot stain down the front of his shirt and his stupid, curly quiff is sweaty and well past its prime. Louis shouldn’t talk, he’s probably far worse off.

“I’m really fucking happy for you two.”

See that wasn’t where Louis had thought things were going. Not at all. Kind of a curve-ball that, out of the blue kind of shit, really.

“Really,” Nick continues. ”I mean, I’m not going to lie, for a fucking long time I didn’t think it was ever going to happen, thought you had your head stuck too far up your arse to see that the best thing you could ever wish for was right fucking in front of you. And he was so bloody miserable for so long, so, just. I’m really happy for you. Haven’t seen Harry this happy for ages, probably in all the time I’ve known him. You’re good for each other, and I can see that. Fuck, the entire world can see that. You’ve gotten what? Five angry tweets? There isn’t even any backlash, which, don’t get me wrong, it’s exactly how it should be. But. Like, not exactly what was expected, is it?”

Louis isn’t sure what to say, but luckily Grimshaw doesn’t seem to need an actual reply.

“And, I—we both know it pains me greatly to say this, Tomlinson, but I wanted to bury the hach—hat—hatchet once and for all,” Nick slurs, words tumbling out of his mouth like he can’t get this part of the conversation over with quickly enough. Louis sympathises. “I know I was kind of nasty to you sometimes, but in my defence you were making poor Harold fucking miserable, and he’s my best friend, so I didn’t exactly think you were the greatest of people.” Nick pauses for a moment, and Louis is so fucking confused—what the fuck is Nick talking about?! He’s far too drunk to even attempt to make sense of it all. “But now you’re making him happy, so. What do you say, eh? Put the past behind us? Civility, for Harry’s sake if for nothing else?”

For Harry’s sake. Right. Now there’s something Louis can agree to. Making Harry happy. Yes, he wants nothing more. Really. If making Harry happy was an actual job, sign Louis right up, put him down for tenure, one of those 50 years at the same firm kinda careers, hell fucking yes. Louis is on board for that, definitely.

Nick is looking at him expectantly, and, right, they’re having a conversation. Nick proposed something. Louis is supposed to answer.

He nods.

Nick smiles, and extends his hand. Louis takes it, shaking the older man’s bigger one. It engulfs his smaller one, but it’s nowhere near as nice as it is when it’s Harry’s hand. Everything is nicer with Harry.

“Am I seeing things,” a voice says from next to Louis. He looks away from Nick, startled, their hands still clutched. It’s Harry, and a smile blooms on Louis’ face instinctively. “Or are the two of you shaking hands? Is this like a drunken hallucination?”

“No hallucination, young Harold. Louis and I have decided to let bygones be bygones, so to speak.”

Harry’s dimples deepen as his smile widens, and Louis thinks that, yes, definitely, Harry’s dimples are his very favourite feature of his. He scoots over in the booth, silently offering Harry the new space created next to him to settle down on.

Harry does so, plastering himself close against him, and throwing his arm over his shoulder, pulling him even closer.

“Hi.” He grins dopily at him, eyes clouded, and curls sweaty and wild. If he hesitates, it’s only for a fraction of a second, and then he’s leaning closer to Louis, sealing their lips together.

Kissing Harry is great, it really, really is. And, like, often drunk kissing can be really gross, all lack of coordination, and too much spit, and just—no. But not with Harry. Kissing is literally always fantastic with Harry. In all honesty, Louis thinks that they could probably kiss anywhere, anytime, in any state, and it would still be bloody brilliant. Probably the best kissing Louis has ever done, if he’s being honest, but he’s not quite ready to delve into that territory.

He brings his hand to Harry’s cheek on instinct, running his tongue over his bottom lip, prompting the younger man to open his mouth and allow Louis entrance. It’s like the rest of the world sort of ceases to exist when they kiss, Louis thinks. Like it’s a gateway to a world that only belongs to him and Harry, like time stops and nothing matters but the feel of Harry under his fingertips, against his lips; the feel of Harry’s hands as they settle in his hair, or on his cheek, his neck, against his chest, his waist. There is literally no place on Louis that Harry could touch without igniting a fire in Louis’ skin, his body responding even to the smallest ghost of a touch from him.

“Ahem,” Nick clears his throat, forcing Louis and Harry to separate their lips reluctantly. “I get that you’re all out and shit, but maybe you shouldn’t be trying to snog each others faces off when in the presence of others, and—“

“Bugger off, Grimshaw!” Louis interrupts, tugging slightly at Harry’s curls where his hand is still buried. The younger boy’s eyes flutter shut.

Nick grins, seeming to have taken no offence at all. “Alright then. Harry, Tomlinson, I expect to be invited for dinner soon, but I’ll let you go back to exchanging DNA now. Remember boys, sex is cleaner with a packaged wiener. No glove, no love!”

It takes Louis a moment to process Nick’s words, and the next thing he knows he has Harry’s face pressed into his neck, the younger man groaning.

Louis might be drunk, but he will not be bested by Nick Grimshaw. They might have struck a tentative truce, and a sort of somewhat timid friendship, but he has his pride. He raises his eyebrow, doing his best to appear unaffected, aloof. “We’ve been together for a year, mate. We’re well past the stage where condoms are a must.”

Nick’s grin remains, and he nods at Louis, Harry’s face still tucked into his neck, and he’s starting to kiss along his exposed collarbones, biting slightly. Louis just manages to keep back a moan, but he can’t prevent his eyes from fluttering shut, and when he opens them a few seconds later, it’s to the sight of Nick’s retreating back.

He turns his attention back to Harry’s ministrations, tangling his hand in the younger man’s curls and tugging his head back gently. Harry whines slightly as his lips get dragged from where they’d been sucking a bruise into Louis’ collarbone.

For a second they’re just looking at each other, not saying anything, his hand still buried in Harry’s curls. Harry’s eyes are big, his pupils dilated. Then he’s slinging his leg over Louis’, straddling him, and he will never understand how drunk Harry seems to be more graceful than sober Harry right now, but there you are. He barely manages to process that he’s got a lap full of Harry, before the younger man is leaning in for another kiss, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down gently, teasingly.

From there on out it’s a dance of tongues, hot and wet and so, so good. Harry’s lips are a little sticky, and he tastes like vodka and something sweet – strawberry, Louis thinks, probably. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had been drinking strawberry daiquiris, sipping them through a straw settled between his luscious lips, cheeks hollowed as he sucks, licking up the trail that makes its way down his chin—

Louis groans into Harry’s mouth at the same time as he grinds down into Louis’ lap. He had barely registered it before, through the haze of the kissing and the constant buzzing going through his entire body, and the feel of Harry, just Harry, Harry everywhere, but he’s half hard already, half hard in his skin tight jeans, which definitely leave nothing to the imagination. Half hard from kissing and now grinding against his best mate. Shit, Louis is a special kind of fucked up, and now Harry knows, must surely feel Louis’ dick, and— _fuck_ , Harry is hard too.

He can feel it, can feel what has to be Harry’s dick, as he grinds down against him again, their cocks making contact through the two layers of fabric, and it’s not enough. _It’s not enough_. Louis doesn’t think he has ever been this sexually frustrated in all of his near twenty-five years of living. _Ever._ He wants nothing more than to bend Harry over the table in the booth, sink into him from behind, deeper and deeper until he’s buried inside of him, buried inside the tight heat of his perfect little bum.

Or have Harry buried in him, really, _fuck_ , Louis is so not picky. 

“Lou, Lou,” Harry pants hotly and somewhat (very much) desperately in his ear, as he continues to grind down into his lap in small rocking motions. “Please, Lou, fuck, please…” he trails off, biting lightly at Louis’ earlobe before nosing down his cheek and then mouthing at his scruffy jawline. “Lou,” he mutters again, as his mouth finds Louis’ once more, and shit if this isn’t the hottest thing Louis has ever done, probably, _Christ_ , and they haven’t even taken off their clothes.

“Lou, please—“ the words are somewhat lost in Louis’ mouth, but the sentiment remains, and in all honesty he can’t come up with a single good reason why they shouldn’t hail a cab and get the fuck home, out of their clothes, and into their bed right fucking now.

“Up, up,” he mutters against Harry’s mouth, pulling his hair again to detach their lips. The younger man moans wantonly, grinding down harder against Louis, and Louis is suddenly reminded of back when he’d bitten Harry’s collarbone, realises that he already knows some of what Harry likes in bed. He tugs again, slightly harder this time, and Harry’s mouth falls open and his eyes fall shut simultaneously.

“Up,” he repeats impatiently, rocking his hips against Harry’s as much as he can whilst pinned under the younger man’s weight. “Fuck, love, up, up. Let’s get home, please, fuck, bed. Naked. Come on, come on!” Louis is beyond making coherent sentences, head nothing but a haze of Harry, and need, and just—just so much fucking desire for the man in his lap that he doesn’t think he can last as much as twenty seconds more of this without coming in his pants.

“Yes. _Fuck_ , yes!” Harry gasps out, finally catching on to what Louis is getting at. “Yes, take me home, _please_ , fuck, yes. Louis. Want you to fuck me, fuck me so hard— _fuck_ ,” Louis bites down at Harry’s collarbone, hard enough to leave a mark, effectively cutting him off.

“ _Up!_ ” he repeats urgently, quite sure that if Harry continues to talk about anyone fucking anyone he will surely come untouched, and that is so not on, not when he’s a taxi ride away from what he’s pretty sure will be his best shag ever.

Harry scrambles off of him faster than he had thought the drunk man could move, and extends his hand to him, pulling him out of the booth. He weaves them through the crowded club, not pausing to say goodbye to anyone, not pausing to alert security of their hasty exit, not even pausing to grab their coats, and pulls him out through the front entrance of the club.

There’s a sea of paparazzi outside, because _of fucking course_ there is, but at present moment Louis has honestly never cared less. He’s perfectly aware of how they both must look, perfectly aware of how their dicks must be visibly straining against the dark denim of both of their jeans, but he can’t bring himself to give a shit.

They’re clutching each other’s hand, walking as close as possible without risking tripping over each other’s feet, and ignoring the paparazzi to the best of their abilities. There’s a taxi, just a regular taxi by the curb, and as neither of them paused to call an actual car on their way out, they get into it.

The first thing Harry does after Louis has rattled off the address to the taxi driver, is  lean into him and connect their lips once again. His hand slides down to cup him through his jeans, and Louis moans into the kiss, tangling his hand in his soft locks, as has quickly become his favourite thing to do when they’re snogging, and tugging at it, making Harry moan in turn.

He can see the camera flashes through his closed eyes as he continues kissing Harry, knows these windows aren’t tinted and that the paps must have a free-for-all view of them snogging, of Harry’s hand covering Louis’ dick, and—fuck, he’s hard  pressed to come up with anything that he has cared less about _ever_. 

So, so _what_ if they’re going to be plastered across every news site come tomorrow morning, if this doesn’t just scream authenticity, Louis doesn’t know what would.

Also, he’s not giving up Harry’s lips on his or Harry’s hand on his dick for anything.

The thought that this might be the very worst idea either of them has ever had only crosses Louis’ mind briefly, before he dismisses the thought, too far gone to do anything about it at this stage anyway, so he might as well enjoy it.

The taxi ride to their house feels simultaneously like the longest and shortest trip of Louis’ life. They don’t stop kissing, except to catch their breath when necessary, and they use these breaks to kiss along each other’s necks, over their collarbones, over their shoulders through the fabric of their respective t-shirts.

The cab driver must surely be sick of them by now, and Louis distractedly notes to remember to tip him generously, before turning his full attention back to Harry. He’s so fucking hard in his jeans that he’ll be hard pressed (ha, fuck, Harry’d be proud) not to come the second he gets skin to skin contact on his dick.

He’s going to fuck Harry, though, yes, that he will. This might be the very last time they’re ever doing this, and he‘s not going to come this close to fucking the most beautiful man on the planet, only to let it slip away because he has the stamina of a sixteen year old.

God, he hopes he’ll get to have Harry inside of him too. He nearly moans out loud at the thought, wants to feel the younger man stretch him open, fill him up. He wants every single thing with Harry, wants to shag him until neither of them can walk, until their throats are hoarse and sore, until Harry’s got beard burn between his thighs and his arse cheeks, until Louis has bruises littered all over his body.

The taxi pulls to a stop and Louis fishes out all of the notes in his wallet, doesn’t even bother to count it, knows that there is more than enough to cover the fare and give the driver a much deserved tip.

Next thing he knows, Harry is pulling him out of the car and into his embrace, catching his lips again and pressing closer, closer, closer against him, until there isn’t as much as a millimetre between them and he can feel every plane of his body against him. Harry is desperately grinding their clothed cocks together in small circles, whilst also trying to walk Louis backwards towards the house.

Louis is all but delirious with lust, and they stumble, nearly falling several times, until Harry takes matters into his own hands and hoists him up from the ground. Louis wraps his legs around his middle by instinct, having barely registered that the younger man is now carrying him towards the house as they continue to snog. Harry’s hands are settled on his bum, spread out and covering each cheek, and Louis can’t help but imagine those hands running all over his naked skin, covering so much, covering everything; can’t help but imagine those fingers teasing him open, moving inside of him, rubbing against his prostate.

Fuck. Louis grinds against him as well as he can in their current position, pressing his dick against his stomach, and then his arse against his cock when he moves back. It elicits  a moan from Harry when he makes contact, and the younger man stumbles forward slightly, ending up with Louis backed against the front door, Harry’s body pressed into his, covering him as they continue to kiss. Hands are wandering freely now, Louis’ currently running over Harry’s bare, muscular back underneath his shirt, while Harry has one under his arse, holding him up, and the other cupping his cheek, keeping his head right where it is.

They pull apart after a moment, when air is desperately needed, and for a few seconds nothing can be heard other than their gasping breaths, and Louis’ own heart thudding away steadily. _Tha-dump, tha-dump, tha-dump_. Surely it’s so loud Harry must be able to hear it too?

“Lou,” he says then, breaking the silence. “Fuck, Lou. You’re so hot, so bloody beautiful. Wanted this—“ He traces kisses along Louis’ jaw, “Wanted this for—“

“Haz,” Louis interrupts him breathlessly, tugging his mouth away from him by pulling his hair again. “Come on, Haz. Inside. We need—let me down—inside. Bed. We need—“

“Yes—inside, yes,” Harry blabbers, releasing his hold on him and putting him down gently. Once Louis is on his feet again, he wastes no time before he spins around, fishing his key from his pocket and unlocking the door – only fumbling a bit more than usual, which he counts as a clear victory.

He doesn’t think he’s ever moved through his house as quickly as he and Harry do then, and that includes the time he very nearly missed the beginning of a Man U game he’d been excited for all week because he’d been stuck in traffic. It’s almost like in the blink of an eye this time, one second they’re in the hall, and the next they’re in Louis’ room. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn they must have apparated or something.

Harry allows him no chance to second guess what they’re doing, tugging him in for yet another kiss. If Louis had been more sober, he’d probably have questioned how clever it was to shag his best friend, but as it is, though he is starting to sober a little, he’s still far too drunk to care. Much too drunk to say no to Harry when he’s right in front of him, willing and gorgeous, and Louis wants him so fucking bad.

Harry’s hands snake their way underneath his t-shirt, making contact with his naked skin, and shit, Louis feels like he might as well have died and gone to heaven. His lips trail down his neck, starting to suck yet another bruise into his collarbone as Louis gets his hands under his plaid shirt, unbuttoning the few buttons not left open, before sliding it off his shoulders, leaving the taller man naked from the waist up. Louis’ hands run over his toned chest, feeling the contrast between his hard abs and soft hips, and, shit, it’s like he was carved by the Gods, like someone has taken the specifics in Louis’ mind defining the perfect male body and created Harry. He’s so fucking fit, so big and broad, and hard and soft, and Louis must have seen him shirtless more than he’s seen anyone, bar himself, without a shirt, and yet it can’t even begin to compare to now, when he gets to _touch._ Harry has always been beautiful, in that abstract ‘wow-I’m-not-blind-you’re-quite-the-hottie’ way, but it’s so, so different now that he’s here in front of him, his to touch and admire and—Jesus.

his hands travel further down, brushing gently over Harry’s bulge, only the ghost of a touch, before popping the button of his jeans and shoving them down to mid-thigh along with his pants. His cock springs free, already fully hard and flushed, precome beading out of the slit. He’s got such a fucking gorgeous cock, big and heavy in Louis’ hand as he takes hold of it, prompting a guttural moan from Harry.

“Lou,” he gasps, as Louis’ hand slides down his dick, thumb stroking over the slit and collecting the precome there to make the slide of his hand easier. “Lou, please,” he moans, clutching Louis’ shoulders in what appears to be an effort to remain standing. He’s so affected, so affected by every single little touch of Louis’, and Louis loves it.

“Lou, I can’t—I’m gonna—“ he gasps, as Louis squeezes the base of his cock before taking  a step back.

“Jeans off and get on the bed,” he orders, overwhelmed and trying to clear his head.

Harry nods, nearly tripping over his own two feet in his haste to do as Louis said. Louis busies himself with shedding his own clothes, pulling his t-shirt over his head and ridding himself of his jeans and pants at the same time. Once he’s naked he looks up to see Harry lying shamelessly naked on their bed, propped up by his elbows and watching him with poorly concealed want. He would probably feel self-conscious, standing naked in front of Harry, who is arguably the fittest bloke on the planet, but it’s impossible with the way he’s looking at him like he’s the most exquisite thing in the world. It’s intoxicating.

He moves closer to the bed, stands there briefly just watching Harry, before he gets up onto the mattress, crawling forward until he’s encasing Harry with his body as best he can with the size difference. He holds Harry’s wrists pinned to the bed, and he leans down to capture his lips in yet another kiss, still not tired of it, though it feels like they’ve done nothing but kiss all night.

He’s keeping up his weight with his hands and knees, not touching Harry besides the connection between their lips and hands, and the younger man tries to buck up, seeking some kind of friction for his cock. Louis takes pity on him and moves one hand down to take a hold of his length.

Harry arches his back with a moan into his mouth as soon as Louis’ hand makes contact. As soon as Louis pulls their lips apart to breathe, he’s blabbering a string of ‘please’ and ‘want you’ and ‘Lou, fuck me, please fuck me!’ while snaking the hand no longer pinned to the bed down along Louis’ body until it’s cupping his balls and then loosely pumping his cock, as best Harry can without some kind of lubrication.

Louis hisses, squeezing the younger man’s dick as Harry makes contact with his, which only makes Harry moan louder.

 “Okay, okay,” he mutters as he slaps Harry’s hand away from his dick, unable to think straight. They need lube, right, they do. Lube and condoms. and they need them right now, because Louis honestly doesn’t think he’ll last even a minute if Harry keeps his hand on him. It’s been _ages_ , okay?

He draws back from Harry, ignoring the whimpers of protest he lets out, and reaches for the lube and condoms he knows are lying in the drawer of his bed table. He manages to grab both, and draws back to him, placing the items next to his head.

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, needing the confirmation before they do something they’ll never get to undo.

“ _Fuck_ , yes,” Harry breathes, reaching up to grip Louis’ cock in a loose grip again. “ _Please_.”

“Okay, okay,” Louis babbles, nods, as he bats his hand away again, reaching for a pillow behind him, the younger boy bending his knees and lifting his bum off the mattress for him to place the pillow under him, giving Louis a better angle to work at. He takes the lube and coats two fingers before leaving the bottle uncapped next to Harry.

He crawls backwards a bit until his head is level with Harry’s pelvis. He uses his lube free hand to spread apart the cheeks of Harry’s arse, and he rubs a lube sticky finger against his hole while he bends down and runs his tongue along the vein on the underside of Harry’s dick, exposed from the way it’s resting against his stomach.

Harry moans loudly, body shuddering slightly, though he remains otherwise still – good boy, Louis thinks absent-mindedly, as he circles his rim. Harry fists his hands in the sheets, and moans even louder, as Louis pushes his first finger inside of him, while taking the head of his cock in his mouth. Harry’s so tight and hot around his finger, impossibly tight, and Louis is struck by how insane it is that he’s supposed to fit himself inside of that.

Louis quickly works towards two fingers, and then three, curling them and rubbing them against Harry’s prostate, making him arch his back and mutter a stream of pleas for Louis to _‘just get inside me already’._

Louis is so very, very on board with that suggestion.

As soon as Louis thinks Harry’s ready he extracts his fingers from him, making the younger boy whimper at the empty feeling. It’s not for long though, because as soon as Louis has managed to roll on a condom and slick himself up with lube, he’s lining himself up at Harry’s entrance and slowly pushing in until he’s all the way inside.

And for a moment it’s like they’re suspended in air. Everything frozen. Eyes locked. Bodies connected in the most intimate way possible. It’s everything and too much all at once. It’s unreal and unlike anything Louis has ever experienced.

For a moment he’s still, buried deep in Harry, and then, like when you push play on a movie, everything is put into motion at once. Sound returns, metaphorical feet are placed firmly on the ground again.

And Louis pulls out, Harry’s tight hole squeezing around him as though begging him to stay.

He pushes back in and it rips moans from both of them, the guttural sounds mixing with each other in such harmony that one wouldn’t be able to tell one from the other.

“Lou, Lou, Lou,” Harry gasps, chants, as Louis moves inside him, shifting the angle slightly with each thrust, in search of the one that will make him hit Harry’s prostate. When Harry lets out a louder cry of his name and throws his head back with closed eyes, Louis figures he’s found it.

“Fuck, H,” he gasps as he thrusts hard into him again, the feeling fucking exquisite. “Fuck, you feel so good, so tight, babe, _shit_.”

“Lou,” Harry moans again, a desperate edge to his voice. “Harder, please, fuck me harder, _please_.”

And Harry really only had to ask once. Louis takes a hold under Harry’s knees, pressing them towards the other boys’ chest to allow him better access. He picks up his speed, slamming into Harry repeatedly as he chases his own orgasm, making sure to hit Harry’s prostate with each stroke. They’re both muttering, moaning, gasping, and Louis’ mind is hazy, delirious with how good this is, how close he is.

Harry has sneaked his hand over his thighs, and is pumping his own cock desperately, obviously close as well.

“I’m gonna—“ he gasps, head thrown back as much as his position allows him, “I’m gonna come, fuck, I—“

“ _Yes._ ” Louis hisses, doubling his efforts as he thrusts into him. “Yes, come on, Harry, come on—“

And with a cry, the younger man starts coming, spurting pearly white come onto his own chest, some of it making it as far as his chin, if Louis isn’t mistaken. Louis has literally never seen anything hotter.

As Harry comes, he squeezes his hole tighter around Louis by instinct, and that’s the last straw before he starts coming only seconds after him. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in what feels like years. Fucking ever, probably, Louis wouldn’t be surprised.

He stays inside him as he comes, pulling out when his dick starts to soften. He pulls off the condom and goes into the bathroom to dispose of it, taking a moment to process the fact that he just fucked his best friend, who he is conveniently pretending to be in a relationship with, and _fucking hell_ what were they _thinking?!_

He shakes his head, still feeling the last effects of the alcohol, and decides to deal with the repercussions tomorrow. He wets a flannel and makes his way back into their bedroom, where Harry is still lying on the bed, spread-eagled, naked in all his glory, and covered in his own come. His eyes are closed, but Louis can tell by the way he’s breathing that he’s still awake, and as he sits down on the edge of the bed, he opens his eyes, smiling timidly.

“Hi,” Louis whispers, though having no idea why. They’re the only ones around, after all, but it feels a bit like he shouldn’t speak too loudly, out of fear of bursting the bubble they’ve built around them. Their sex bubble, _fuck_.

“Hi,” Harry says, just as quietly, his smile strengthening. Louis reaches down and starts to wipe the come off his chest with the flannel. They don’t speak as he works, Harry’s big hand having moved to rest against Louis’ bare thigh.

“Lou,” Harry murmurs, as Louis gets up to toss the wet flannel in the hamper. “Should we, like—“ _talk_ , the word lingers in the air, unspoken, but they both know exactly where Harry was going.

“Tomorrow.” Louis decides definitively. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He slips on a pair of pants, unsure if they’re his or Harry’s, and not really caring either, before slipping under the covers next to him. “We should probably be sober anyhow,” he continues, turning on his side to look at Harry. “When we, uh—when we talk.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees with a small nod, eyes drooping. He slips under the covers himself, hesitating for a moment as if he doesn’t know if what they’ve done changes the way they’ve come to sleep, curled around each other, limbs intertwined.

Louis opens his arms slightly, in a gesture for Harry to come closer, and the younger man smiles gently before curling up against him, letting Louis spoon him from behind. Louis’ hand comes to rest against Harry’s bare chest, and the younger man is still naked, and that— is probably a thought-path Louis should steer clear of. He breathes in the smell of Harry’s hair, and it’s the last thing he registers before he falls asleep.

 

When Louis wakes up the next morning it’s to a pounding headache, a ringing phone, and a naked Harry pressed up against him. Harry is stirring too, groggy and confused, because, a brief look at his phone - which is still ringing, God - tells him that it’s only twenty minutes past eight.

Harry reaches over and takes Louis’ phone, sliding to accept the call – Niall – and putting it on speaker.

“ _What?_ ” Harry rasps, while Louis lets his head fall back against the pillow, fucking exhausted. Harry picks up the phone, places it on Louis’ bare chest, and then proceeds to rest his head there as well, as Niall babbles on, clearly still rather drunk. (Louis wonders if Niall has even made it home yet, he thinks probably not). Louis hand moves quite on its own accord to run his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“—fucking smashed it, lads! I’m telling you, like four and five and six stars all around, only one place with three, but that magazine are a bunch of dick anyways, and, also, you’re all over the internet and on the front page of the Daily Mail and The Sun. Like, you know, the two of you walking out of the club, right? Looking like you just gave each other head in the bathroom and are off to finish it at home!” Niall starts cackling, like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and Louis closes his eyes, thinks that apart from the fact that there technically hadn’t been any blowjobs involved, Niall has delivered a pretty accurate description of what had gone down.

Louis slept with Harry, has had sex with Harry, and, well, he is far too hungover to even begin to contemplate what that might mean.

“That’s great,” Louis interrupts Niall’s monologue. “But it’s arse o’clock in the morning and we’re sleeping. Bye.” He manages to hang up his phone somehow, dropping it to the floor, not caring the slightest if the screen ends up cracking, just desperate to go back to sleep.

Often when Louis is unceremoniously woken like this, and kept awake for longer than it would take for him to turn around to lie on his other side and close his eyes again, he finds it difficult to fall back asleep – not this time though. This time he merely tightens his arms around Harry, closes his eyes, and drifts off in the matter of a few seconds.

 

The second time he wakes up, it’s significantly later and he’s alone in bed. He can hear the faint sound of the shower running in the en suite, and with his pounding head, and the feeling of generally being proper disgusting, he figures that Harry’s got the right idea.

He gets out of bed with some difficulty, grabs his things, and makes his way towards the guest bathroom. Luckily he’s taken to keeping the all bathrooms fully stocked on the essentials, thanks to his mother’s insistence, so it’s not really a problem taking a shower in here. When he gets the shower turned on, he waits a moment for it to reach the desired temperature before stepping into it, letting the hot water soothe his tired and sore body. He doesn’t know if it’s the dancing or the fucking from yesterday that has got him feeling sore in muscles he didn’t even remember he had, but here it is at any rate.

It eases the tension in his head a bit as well, the pounding headache a greeting from the way too many shots he did yesterday. God, what even was yesterday? How the fuck did it go from celebrating the release of their new album, to Harry and him practically getting it on in the club, to actually getting it on at home? Fucking ridiculous. (Potentially disastrous.)

He takes longer in the shower than he normally would, as it proves to be a nice place to think things through. He lets his mind wander and tries to sort out what the fuck they have done – because they can’t afford to fuck this up, _they can’t_.

And, really, it’s no wonder they ended up in bed with each other, is it? Like, they’re close, they’re both fit, they’re getting off with each other all the time and pretending to be in a relationship. They’re literally sleeping together, curled around each other, skin against skin. They’re so fucking sexually frustrated, with no possible outlet but their own hands. Looking back they were pretty much like a ticking time bomb – it was only a matter of time before it happened.

And now it has. Louis hasn’t got a clue where they’re supposed to go from here.

He finally gets out of the shower, towels off and puts on the clothes he brought with him with the single purpose of comfort (If the sweater just so happens to be Harry’s, it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t).

He makes his way towards the kitchen then, on a mission to get an aspirin and a cup of tea (preferably in that order), and maybe, if it doesn’t seem too taxing, toast a bit of bread. As he nears the kitchen though, the unmistakable smell of bacon meets his nostrils, and he thinks that he might have to give up everything and just marry Harry, because anyone who gets up the day after a party like the one yesterday to make a proper fry-up, is most definitely a keeper.

A couple of months ago Louis probably wouldn’t even have had bacon and eggs in his fridge, if he’s being honest, but lots of things have changed since Harry moved in. Even if it is just a temporary move, it will be at least for the next six or so months, and to anyone who visits them, it needs to seem at least as much Harry’s house as Louis’. Their house, their home. It’s been so, so important to Louis that Harry feels like this is his home too, like he doesn’t just feel like a guest.

When he moves into the kitchen, he’s met with the sight of Harry by the hob, bacon and eggs sizzling in the pan in front of him. The radio is playing softly in the background and he’s humming along to the music. He doesn’t hear Louis come in at first, so he moves closer to him, stopping when he’s properly into the kitchen, and leans against the counter.

“Morning,” he announces his presence, keeping his voice low so as not to startle the younger man. Harry spins around quickly, having obviously been deep in his own thoughts. His features morphs into a tentative smile once he realizes that it’s just Louis who has come to disrupt his cooking.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, and then nods his head towards the counter opposite the one he’s standing by. “There’s some aspirin there if you’ve got a headache.”

Louis does, as a matter of fact, so he smiles gratefully at Harry and moves towards the glass of water and packet of pills that he’s now noticing Harry has put there. “Thanks, love,” he says once he’s swallowed, before moving up behind him to peer over his shoulder at the pans he’s got going on. Full English, it seems. Louis doubts he has ever loved another human more.

On instinct he places his hand on Harry’s waist, hesitating slightly when the other man freezes at the contact. He doesn’t draw back though, lets his hand rest its full weight on Harry, refusing, absolutely _refusing_ , to let last night make this awkward. Maybe if he just behaves like normal nothing has to be strange, nothing has to change. Yes, Louis would quite prefer that.

It takes a few moments, but eventually Harry leans back against him, staying there for a moment before drawing back, turning off the hob and turning himself around to face Louis.

“Are we going to talk about it now?”

Louis sighs, closing his eyes briefly, before opening them again and meeting Harry’s. “Yes.”

“Lou,” he starts, but is interrupted by Louis’ shake of his head.

“Let’s eat first.”

“Louis,” he says again, warns.

“While we eat then,” Louis concedes, trying to quell the churning of his stomach. He doubts he’ll be able to eat anything now.

Harry sighs then, looks down and turns around to fiddle with the pans.

Louis’ heart hurts, feels like it is being crushed, ripped apart, trampled upon.

They are not okay.

How he could have ever thought they would be okay after what they did? How he could ever have thought things would just go back to normal? God, Louis is a fool. Such a bloody fool.

It has changed everything. Of course it has changed everything. How could it not?

He takes a step back, allowing Harry more room, so that he can bring the pans to the table, as well as the plates and cutlery. Louis should help, probably, but he finds himself frozen in his spot. Harry moves past him again, grabbing the pot of tea he’s apparently made as well, because he’s nothing if not perfect, and just as he’s nearly out of Louis’ reach, he can’t help but reach out for him, hand around his wrist stopping him in the middle of the kitchen.

“Harry,” he breathes, a wretched whisper, and it feels like the one word claws its way up his throat, leaving it torn and shredded. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, doesn’t know what he can say, doesn’t know how to fix this, make it alright. If only he could turn back time. “Harry, I’m—“

“No,” Harry interrupts, shaking his head, a pained expression marring his face. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Please.”

Louis takes a deep breath, lungs feeling too small to hold the air he needs in order to breathe properly. “I’m not sorry,” Louis says then, honestly. “Not that we slept together. I’m sorry that this is where we are now. I never wanted—I wouldn’t do— I hate myself for doing anything that could ever endanger what we are—“

Next thing he knows, he’s got an armful of Harry, the younger man clutching him close, close, closer until there’s not even a hair’s breadth between them, until Louis can hardly breathe.

“You haven’t, you haven’t,” Harry is murmuring into his hair. “You haven’t. I’m right here, always right here.” He pulls back, only just enough to look Louis in the eyes. “We need to talk about this, Lou, but I’m still right here. I’ll always be right here. It doesn’t have to change any more than we let it.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Louis admits, resting his head against Harry’s shoulder. His broad hand traces up and down Louis’ spine, and all he can think about is how those hands felt on his naked skin, and _fuck._

“We had sex.” Harry states, prompting Louis to let out a surprised laugh, having not expected him to just state it like that at all.

“We did,” Louis confirms, once his laugh has died out. “We were also terribly drunk.”

Harry nods. “True. It was good sex, though.”

“It was.” Louis agrees, because if nothing else then Harry is at least right about that; the sex was amazing, the best shag Louis has had in ages, and they were so piss drunk they could hardly see straight. What they could do to each other sober is probably best left not thought about. “To be honest, we should probably have expected it to happen, shouldn’t we?”

Harry is silent for a moment, before drawing back from Louis, moving to rest his weight against the counter, creating some distance between them. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re living up and down each other, we’re snogging more times than not, we’re sleeping half naked in the same bed. We’re both fucking fit and not allowed to shag anyone else. We’re men…”

Harry snorts, “We’re men?”

“It’s a valid point, isn’t it?” Louis shrugs, taking a step back and leaning against the opposite counter.

“Suppose so. What is your point though?”

Louis shrugs again. “We were both so fucking sexually frustrated, so it was to be expected?”

“And what now?” Harry questions, running a hand through his semi-dried curls.

“Well you said it yourself, didn’t you? ‘It won’t change any more than we let it’. We both know what this was, so, like, thanks and let’s put it behind us? You’re a fantastic shag, Harry, but you’re my best mate and the person I love the most on the fucking planet probably, so I’d really prefer not to let a one night stand ruin six years of friendship.”

Harry nods after a moment, before drawing away from the counter and turning his back on Louis, hiding his face. He grabs the pot of tea from where he’d placed it before leaping into Louis’ arms, and makes his way to the dining room.

“You’re right,” he hears Harry’s voice from the other room. “We, uh—we both know what it was. No use over complicating it is there, you know, uh, when we’re on the same page.”

And that’s that.

 

Harry is off for the rest of the day. It’s not surprising really, obviously what they did has shifted something between them, how could it not? It would be foolish to believe it could all be restored in the blink of an eye. Time, probably, is all that’s needed, right? Just some time for them to fall back into their usual routines, their usual way of being. Yes. That’s all.

But then again, it probably wouldn’t hurt to do something nice for Harry, would it? Like… well, he left a little after they’d eaten breakfast, something about running some errands and being back in time for dinner. It’s kind of ridiculous, honestly, because they could probably be in the fight of their lives and hating each other’s guts, and Harry would most likely still be home in time to cook Louis supper. He’s too good. He’s doing everything, basically. He’s cooking every meal, doing all the washing, cleaning most of the flat and not complaining the least. Like, Louis’ been mowing the grass and shit, but really he’s been slacking with the rest, and that’s terribly unfair to Harry. He’s a proper saint, and he should get a day off, he really, really should.

But the thing is, Louis is just really hopeless in a kitchen. Like, really fucking hopeless. Not even if the apocalypse was impending and the only way to save Earth was to cook the zombies a nice plate of Spaghetti Bolognese would he be able to pull it off. It speaks volumes about what Harry means to him that he’s even attempting. He tries not to linger on that thought.

Somehow he manages to go to the shop to get the ingredients for dinner, wash the soiled bedding from last night, hoover, and clean, and cook and set the table, by the time Harry comes home, rather disgruntled, at half past six.

“Lou,” he shouts as he enters. Louis is in the kitchen, uncorking a bottle of wine, which is the last thing that needs to be done before his dinner for Harry is ready. “Lou,” he says again, his voice coming nearer. “Did you take the stew out of the freezer like I texted you? Or do we have to order take-away again, because I do—“ his voice falters, and Louis assumes it must be because he stepped into the dining room, and seen that the table is already set.

“Louis?” his voice calls again, this time more uncertain as he moves closer to the kitchen.

“In here,” Louis finally calls back, as he manages to open the bottle of wine.

“What’s all this?” he asks, a small smile playing on his lips as he takes in the sight of Louis with the now opened bottle of wine between his legs.

Louis shrugs in response. “You’ve been doing everything since you moved in here, which, you know, sorry. Thought I’d do something nice for you and cook you dinner.”

Harry furrows his brow, while still smiling. “And by cook me dinner you mean order me takeaway, right?”

Louis grins and shakes his head. “I have learned a thing or two in all the years I’ve been living alone, believe it or not. But tonight it’s actually an oldie we’re having. Come on, go sit down, I’ll bring the food.”

“Do you need me to help, or…”

Louis shakes his head. “No, no. Just relax. Here,” he thrusts the bottle of wine into Harry’s hands. “Take this to the table, and the water in the fridge please, don’t really think I’m up for wine, to be honest.”

Harry nods and does as Louis says silently, and it’s only a couple of minutes before he’s brought everything to the table and they’re sitting across from each other eating. The wine is on the table untouched, neither of them feeling much like alcohol after yesterday. Harry had started out by fiddling with his phone, taking a picture of the food, Louis suspects, and he’d be very surprised if he doesn’t find a tweet from Harry when he checks his phone after dinner.

And it’s weird, because it’s all the same, really, as they eat, and talk, and laugh and joke. It’s all the same, except it’s not, because there’s this underlying current of something more. There’s a heavy tension that Louis doesn’t know how to make dissipate, and he doubts Harry knows either. It’s like they’ve opened a can of worms by sleeping with each other, and now they don’t know how to close it again. Louis can’t help but wonder if he wants to.

The thing is, this can be exactly what they want it to be. They’re best friends, they’re pretending to be in love, they’re apparently really fucking sexually compatible, so why _not_ take advantage of it? Why not use each other, when neither of them can be with anyone else for the next long while? As long as they’re clear about it with each other, surely it won’t be a problem? Their mistake last night had been to get caught up in the lust of everything, and shag without a care for how it would affect them in the long run. However, if they talked it through before, if they hashed out the boundaries together, if they made sure they were both on the same page, then surely there would be nothing wrong with it? Surely it could only be beneficial to the both of them?

They’ve already started it, there’s no going back. They know what the other feels like pressed against them naked, Louis knows how it feels to be inside Harry, and Harry knows how it feels to have Louis fill him up until he feels so full he could burst from it. They know those things now, know them, will _always_ know them. There is no going back.

Louis ponders it for the rest of the night, unable to come to a conclusion himself. It’s not until they’re about to go to bed, when Harry is brushing his teeth in the bathroom and Louis is fiddling with his phone, already in bed, that he decides to broach the subject with him. First though, he checks twitter to see if Harry really did tweet at dinner, and finds that there is indeed a tweet he hasn’t seen waiting for him.

[ ](http://imgur.com/AtRvNCa)

[ ](http://imgur.com/yM8LT7w)

 

“Hey, Lou,” Harry calls from the bathroom, startling Louis out of his twitter absorbance. There’s a bit of a divergence between the fans – those who believes that Harry did the cooking, and those who believe that Louis did. His side is winning, which is really no surprise, considering the story of this meal is practically iconic. “Have you checked our iTunes placement? Or read any reviews?”

Louis shakes his head, before remembering that Harry is in the other room and can’t see him. “No, I—uh, I kind of forgot actually, in the midst of everything.” Which is ridiculous, how could he forget about the release of their album, the album they’ve worked so hard on for so long, the album that will probably either make or break their entire career? The things Harry does to his brain, really. “I only know what Niall said this morning, which was quite good, yeah? Have you looked at it?”

“No,” Harry says as he enters the bedroom, dressed only in a pair of pants, and how is Louis supposed to deal with practically naked Harry now that he’s tried running his hands over the naked skin, tried trailing his lips over it; how is he supposed to deal now, when he could barely do so before? God, they better be able to work something out, or Louis will have to implement a very strict onesies only policy in the bedroom. It’s slightly ridiculous, really, because if they’d thought of last night as something to settle their urges, tide them over until they’re free and can shag whoever they’d like, they were so, so wrong. Sleeping with Harry has only made Louis crave it so much more, only made him even more aware of what he could have. Probably top three of the absolute worst decisions of his life, to be honest.

“We should do it now, maybe?” Harry continues, while rubbing his hands with lotion. “Grab the iPad, yeah?”

Louis nods and twists his body to grab the iPad from his bedside table while Harry settles in next to him, squeezing close so that they can both see the screen. They check everything from reviews to fan opinions, to the iTunes chart, and it’s all better than they’d ever dared to expect. Of course there is a magazine here and there who isn’t convinced, people on the internet who are still unable to look past their boy band personas of 2011, but all in all it’s everything Louis could have ever dared to dream of, and a lot more.

He twists his head to look at Harry, a small smile playing on his lips, when he finds Harry’s face a lot closer to him than he’d expected. He’s smiling too, big and goofy, because fuck, it feels like they’re so close to achieving everything they’ve hoped for, and it’s fantastic, and the only one he wants to share it with is Harry.

His gaze shifts to Harry’s lips, because, really, how could they not? Harry’s got the most sinful lips, plump and soft, red and perfect. He’s a brilliant kisser, and Louis is only human. How is he supposed to look at Harry, at his lips, up close like this, look at Harry when he’s probably the most beautiful man ever, and not want to kiss him silly; not want to run his hands down his toned chest, suck love bites into the column of his throat, wrap his lips around the head of his fucking perfect dick and—

He hardly notices that he’s leaning closer to Harry, nor that Harry is doing the same, until their lips are only millimetres apart. They both hesitate for just a moment, eyes drifting upwards to seek the other’s, and for a moment Louis is just staring into Harry’s wide eyes, into the brilliant green around his dilated pupils. His eyes are the most beautiful colour, and if you asked Louis right now what his favourite colour was, Harry’s eyes would be the answer. They look at each other for a moment, and the next their lips meet in the middle, both of them moving forward at the same time to breach the little distance left between them.

Kissing Harry has always been fireworks and explosions, and every other cliché, and it is this time too, except that it’s different. It’s quiet, and settled, and intimate, and so, so soft. It’s the kind of kiss that speaks of intimacy, and familiarity, and trust. It’s not the kiss of one night stands or passionate affairs, it’s the kiss of long term and forever. They kind of are, even if not like that, so Louis doesn’t worry too much about it. Doesn’t _let_ himself worry too much about it. He gives himself over to the moment one hundred percent, hand moving to rest against Harry’s cheek as he pulls him in closer. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, until suddenly Harry draws back, ripping his lips from Louis’ harshly and moving backwards, creating, in Louis’ opinion, unwanted space between them.

 “No,” Harry gasps out, shaking his head wildly, as if his words aren’t enough to drill the meaning into Louis’ mind.  “No, fuck, Lou, _no_. What are we _doing_?”

Louis kind of wants to come back with sarcastic reply, a ‘what does it look like we’re doing?’, but he does sort of have a feeling for when not to be witty. Now is definitely, definitely not the time.

“Haz,” he breathes out instead, reaching out for him, but Harry flinches, moves further away from him, and Louis’ chest hurts. “Harry,” he repeats, this time staying where he is.

“No, Louis, we can’t just. Fuck. If we’re gonna get out of this with our friendship intact, we can’t just make out because we’re horny, we gotta stop thinking with our dicks—“

“But we don’t!” Louis blurts out, interrupting him. He takes a deep breath before continuing, softer this time, “We don’t, Harry. I mean,” he backtracks. “At least not if we talk it through before. You’re right, we can’t just think with our dicks, but if we talk this through together, if we work out some guidelines or whatever, there’s no reason why we should walk around constantly sexually frustrated for the next six months, is there?”

Harry frowns, and asks cautiously, like he’s almost afraid of what Louis is saying. “What are you suggesting, Louis?”

Louis speaks quickly, wanting to get it all out before he loses his nerve. “Well, what’s really stopping us from sleeping together, H? I mean, I’ve been thinking about this all day, and, shit, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be proper bummed about having to go back to my own hand, when I know what I’m missing out on with you now. Like, you’re fucking fit, Haz, you’re beautiful, I’d be a fool not to see that. And, honestly, I don’t remember the last time I had a shag so good, and I was fucking drunk, babe, like I’m not even—I don’t—My point is… _Harry_. It doesn’t have to be more than it is, it doesn’t have to be so complicated. We’re us, it’s just us. Why shouldn’t we be able to take advantage of the situation we’ve been thrust into? Why shouldn’t we make the best of it? It’s just sex, Harry, it’s just sex.”

He looks conflicted for several moments, long enough for Louis to think that maybe he severely fucked everything up. It’s so long, so long, and Louis should have said something ages ago, should have backtracked somehow, should have tried to laugh it off, fucking anything other than this god forsaken silence that has taken over them, and shit, Louis is such a bloody idiot, such a fool, what the fuck was he thinking, how could he ever have thought this might end well, Jesus bloody Chr—

Harry surges forward, knocking him back against the headboard of the bed with the force of his body, connecting their lips in a fierce kiss, entirely different from the one only minutes before. It’s raw, and real, and unpolished, teeth clashing and biting and nails digging into soft skin. Harry’s lips are pushing against his, unrelenting, punishing and bruising. He kisses Louis like he literally has no other choice, like it’s vital to his survival, like he really has no other option.

Louis can do nothing but accept every kiss, every lick, every bite; welcome him, kiss him back, letting him do exactly as he pleases with him.

And like flicking a switch, it changes. From one second to the next the kiss goes from almost brutal, to so, so unbearably soft. Harry draws back a little bit, their lips remaining connected for just a little while, before separating with a smack that seems to reverberate in the otherwise silent bedroom.

“Okay,” Harry breathes, looking into Louis’ eyes, face so, so close. “Okay.”

“Just sex.” Louis whispers, almost afraid to speak louder. It feels like a promise they’re making, like signing a verbal contract almost. Fuck, a week ago, even a day ago, Louis would never have expected them to be in this situation now, in this situation _ever_.

“Just…” Harry says, biting his lip, eyes big and shining in the dimly lit room. Louis doesn’t know what to make of anything anymore. “Just.” It’s definitive, this, and then Harry closes the distance between them again.

There’s none of the harshness, none of the brutal need left, just something that feels like a soft yearning, a burning in the pit of his stomach. It’s slow, so slow, the way Harry’s lips drag over his, the way their tongues tangle, hands roaming all over the other’s body. It’s such a contrast to last night, to the hurried frenzy, to the desperation. It’s like they’re settled in the knowledge that they’re doing this, that they’ve talked about it, that neither of them is suddenly going to come to their senses and stop what they’re doing. There’s no rush, because they have all the time in the world, really, so why _should_ they rush it?

Harry trails his mouth up Louis’ scruffy cheek, until his lips rest against his ear, and Louis’ head is filled with the sound of his breathing. It’s like music to the most perfect lyrics.

“You say I’m beautiful, Lou,” Harry whispers, goose bumps rising on Louis’ skin, “But you have no idea how perfect you are. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Louis opens his mouth to protest, because where does Harry even get these things from, what is he even talking about, fucking madness, but then, before he can even utter as much as a syllable, Harry’s mouth is covering his again, cutting off any objection. He kind of has other things to think about after that.

It continues like it started, soft and intimate, all the way through, marked by the feeling of having all the time in the world. There’s time, suddenly, to map out each other’s bodies, to learn every wrinkle and birthmark, every curve and every angle, there’s a sort of settlement in the knowledge that this will happen again, that it isn’t a one off.

It should be weirder, maybe. Definitely. Harry is his best friend, and this is definitely not best friend activities, but. They’ve already done it once and they’re still alright. And there is absolutely nothing short of the end of the world that could keep him from touching Harry now (and even then, probably not). Harry is every bit as addicting as weed to him, a craving that’s too real, too big to ignore. And why should he when the man is looming above him, running his hands all over him, making him feel like fucking heaven, rubbing their clothed, hard cocks against each other in slow, measured circles.

It’s somewhere around the time when Harry wraps his hand around Louis’ dick through his briefs that he decides to just stop bloody over thinking it all the time, and just give himself over to what he’s feeling. Somehow, through the haze of pleasure and Harry that clouds his mind, they get naked, and before he knows it, Harry’s fingers are entering him, spreading him open in a way that no one but himself has done in more than a year. His own fingers are wholly inadequate in comparison to Harry’s.

He can hardly function beyond how unbelievably amazing he feels, and he might actually whine when Harry extracts his fingers from him, after a last rub over his prostate that makes him arch his back, his entire body thrumming with pleasure.

There’s hardly any time between Harry’s fingers leaving him, and his hard cock entering him, and of the two, if he must choose, he much prefers Harry’s dick. He nearly sighs in relief when Harry is buried all the way inside him, pelvis pressed against his arse, with Louis’ legs wrapped loosely around his waist. It feels like they were made with the sole purpose of being joined like this.

It continues to be slow from then on, Harry moving inside his with languid, steady thrusts that brush against his prostate with every move. It’s so, so intimate, and, to be honest, Louis doesn’t think he has ever actually had sex this way. It’s not really the usual way of one night stands.

When his orgasm hits him, it is like a wave crashing onto shore, submerging his entire body. It’s literally every nerve in his body tingling, he can feel it from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair. He’s delirious with pleasure for several moments – could be minutes, hours, days, and months, and years, for all he knows – unable to do much but clutch Harry’s shoulders, nails digging in deep.

When he starts to come back, it’s to the mildly uncomfortable sensation of Harry pulling out of him, his hole clenching around nothing, stretched and empty. Harry gets out of bed, presumably to discard the condom in the bathroom, but Louis continues to lie there, honestly unsure if his body even functions anymore. It feels a bit like Harry has turned every muscle in his body into liquid. He feels weightless, sort of, still. Like he could just float away, like the smallest gust of wind would take his body with it. His eyes drift closed, and he’s nearly asleep when he feels the coolness of a wet cloth cleaning his own come off his stomach.

He cracks open an eye, and is met with the sight of Harry looming above him, still naked as the day he was born, and a flannel in his hand. He’s cleaning him thoroughly, a small fond smile playing on his face as he takes in Louis. He makes to get up from the bed, intent to return the cloth to the bathroom, Louis suspects, but, to be honest, he isn’t really on board with that idea, so he makes grabby hands at him, clutching the younger man’s wrist and tugging him towards him.

Harry’s smile only widens as he drops the flannel on the floor (an utterly un-Harry thing to do, really), and climbs into bed next to Louis, covering them both with the duvet. Louis sighs happily into his lips as he kisses him, before shuffling closer to slot their limbs together again, and Louis feels soft, and sleepy, and perfect.

He falls asleep in Harry’s arms, like he has for the last many, many, many nights, but it has probably never felt better than it does right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you've got the time, or have anything to day, or even if you don't, please leave a comment - it means so much!
> 
> If you need more And Then a Bit, check out the [character asks](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/tagged/atab-character-asks), or send some of your own if there's something you're curious about. 
> 
> It'd also mean a lot if you'd reblog the [masterpost](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/post/86597681065/infinitelymint-and-then-a-bit-pairing) for the fic. Or just come say hi on [tumblr](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Hope to see you next Friday (for a monster of a chapter - 16k!) xxxx  
> Ps: I cocked up with the tweets in the end of last chapter, and only just discovered a couple of days ago, so... well, you can go back and see the proper exchange if you'd like :)


	9. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm sorry this is up so late - I'm absolutely swamped with exams. Sigh.  
> I've got about a million credits to give now, so here goes:  
> As always a massive, massive thank you to [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com/) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com/) for making this readable.
> 
> And now for all the manips and pictures (tweets not counting):  
> To [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com) for number 1, 3, 4, 8. This wouldn't be half of what it is without you. I literally just have to say 'could you make....' and it appears in my mailbox. I've got this theory that she's at least part magic. Nina Potter, yes. Solid theory that.  
> Number 2 is by the wonderful [Sami](http://sami1x1.tumblr.com/post/81861502840) who so kindly allowed me to use it - THANK YOU!  
> 5 and 6 are my private photos.  
> 7 is curtesy of dear old google.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who read it, and leave comments, and kudos, and come talk to me on tumblr - means a very much a lot. I'm sorry it takes me so long to answer nowadays, I can't stress it enough, it's these exams, I'm just so stressed. Give me about two weeks more and I'll be free of uni and I'll be here so much you all grow sick of me.
> 
> Enjoy? x

_Du er den jeg drømmer om - det eneste jeg kan se_   
_Den jeg venter på - jeg ved godt det ikke må ske_   
_Den jeg fanges i - men jeg kan ikke gøre ved_   
_At jeg falder for_   
_At jeg falder for dig_

(Marie Key – ”Uopnåelig”)

 

**CHAPTER VIII:**

Tour rehearsals start in the middle of November and are set to run until the 22nd of December, leaving the boys with a small break until the tour begins on the 7th of January in London. December has already been hectic, filled with rehearsal after rehearsal and the premiere of their third single on the finale of The X Factor, which had gotten a reception beyond Louis’ wildest dreams. Now they’ve got three days of rehearsals left, they’ve got the songs down, got the intro and intermediate videos filmed, got pretty much everything else down, except for a brief run-through with the choreographer. Which is ridiculous, yes, Louis is perfectly aware of that. Like, three days left? They’ve been doing mock gigs on the stage for ages now, but it had been decided that since there wasn’t really any actual choreography involved, the boys would work out most of their onstage movements by themselves – three tours behind them has left them with some understanding of how to move on stage, how to avoid blocking, etc – and then a choreographer would be hired for the last few days to tweak any minor details he felt he needed to.

So here they are, running through the show with a choreographer they’ve never worked with before watching them, ready to give them pointers and directions on how to improve.

Louis is having so much fun, so much. It’s just…it’s everything performing and being on stage ought to be, it’s careless, and fun, and the fact that he doesn’t have to stay a constant three metres from Harry means the fucking world. There’s a calm and a sort of relaxation in performing that hasn’t actually been there since the _Up All Night_ tour. And it’s better than then too, because they’re older, and better, and more familiar with performing, more safe in it. It’s brilliant, really.

Once they’ve run through their set, Louis is sweaty, and happy, and exhausted too. They gather on the edge of the stage when the choreographer – Martin, Louis recalls – beckons them closer, and Louis leans into Harry side, sitting close on the edge of the stage, thighs pressed together, and Harry’s arm draped over his shoulder, holding him close. Harry drops a kiss on the top of his hair, and Louis smiles before snuggling further into  his neck.

It’s been two months since they casually started sleeping together, and things have been better than Louis could ever have wished for. If there is one word to describe how they’ve been for the past two months, it would be content. And not in the negative ‘we’re-alright-but-only-just-things-could-be-so-so-much-better’ way, but in the way where things are just so… _settled_. Louis couldn’t wish for more really, like the only way it could actually be better would be if they were actually in love with each other. Would uncomplicate a lot of things, that’s for sure.

Being best mates who are living together, and kissing, and shagging isn’t all that bad either though, all things considered. It works. It’s totally illogical and it shouldn’t work, but it _does_. Louis is really very much not going to question it. What’s that saying? ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’? That might take the biscuit for weirdest epithet ever, but Louis agrees with the sentiment nonetheless.

This whole thing is a lot easier, a lot less complicated, if he just doesn’t think too much about it, Louis has learned.

“Well,” Martin-the-choreographer says, breaking Louis out of his thoughts. “That’s great lads, really. It’s very clear this isn’t your first time doing a show like this. There’s not much to say, really, I’m just going to give you each a few pointers. Zayn-“

Louis zones out again as Martin addresses Zayn, then Niall, and at last Liam, giving them each pointers and corrections.

“Harry, Louis,” Martin says finally, after what feels a bit like hours. Louis is tired, okay? Kind of hungry too. Wouldn’t mind getting to go home and have Harry make him a sandwich. Possibly throw in a blowjob or something, that’d be ace. “Where’s the love, boys? There's going to be people who have come to see you two being in love, and like, it’s there, of course it is, but it’s too subtle. Give the fans a few kisses, a cheeky smack on the bum, anything really. It’s okay to show that you’re together. Not too much, but something, yeah? Find the balance, do what’s comfortable for you. Whenever it feels natural. And, oh, _Something Great_ , yeah? That must be an emotional song for you two, right? Written by Harry back when he was in love with you, no? Wishing you would just love him back. With the piano ensemble, it’s going to go straight to all the girls’ hearts. I want you, Harry, to go to Louis after the song and give him a kiss, every time, right? A sort of 'yes, it’s sucked, but I’ve got you now'. Louis, you look at Harry during your song, make sure people get he’s the one you’re singing to. That goes for all the love songs, don’t leave any doubt you’re singing about each other. But don’t turn it into a cheesy rom com, be cheeky too, be fun. Show people how happy you are together. But we don’t want you to be getting off with each other 24/7 either, we’re not making soft core porn,” Louis snorts. “Keep it fairly PG, yeah? A little filthy at times is okay, though. Again, find the balance you’re comfortable with and with what is appropriate.”

“Won’t it seem staged, though?” Harry questions after they’ve had a moment to digest Martin’s monologue. “If we kiss every time after _Something Great_?”

Martin shakes his head. “No,” he says.“It’s not gonna seem staged. It’s going to seem more like a cute little ritual you two have, you know? It’s Louis reassuring you that you don’t have to wish for something great anymore, because now you have it. It just shows that the song is special to you, which it is, I assume?”

It’s Harry’s turn to nod, as he breathes a soft, “Yeah.” Louis tilts his head up to kiss the corner of Harry’s mouth, and he feels the younger man pull him closer.

“Right,” Martin says, addressing all of them again. “I wanna run through _Something Great_ , _Midnight Memories_ , _Little Things_ , _All That I Have,_ and _These Words_ again, alright? And remember what I said.”

The boys make various noises of acceptance and scramble off the edge of the stage, taking their respective positions to run through the songs requested. It’s ridiculous how much more fun performing is now that they can all mess around and have fun, and, well, if he’s gotta smack Harry’s bum and give him a kiss or two, it’s really all for the greater good of the band. Yes.

Martin seems a lot more satisfied with their performances when they finish this time, and he nods and praises them, telling them to remember what he said for tomorrow  when they’ll continue.

There’s quite the crowd assembled outside their rehearsal space when they make to leave, and while Louis is mostly feeling like just getting to their car and then home, the group of young girls who are clearly allowed to be here because their Christmas holidays have started, their mum's and dad's standing in the background, make him stop. He drags Harry towards them, and they spend a good amount of time making sure that they’ve greeted, signed autographs for, and taken pictures with all  of the kids before they wave their goodbyes and make their way to the car. Once inside it, Louis whips out his phone to see a notification of a tweet from Niall, and he opens it out of boredom, quite surprised to see that it’s about him and Harry.

[ ](http://imgur.com/7r8OUOL)

[ ](http://imgur.com/3AVaL9C)

And, right, it’s just strange, is all. Like, to see one of the boys tweeting about them like they’re an item, mostly because it hasn’t really happened. Louis knows, however, that they’ve been asked by management to step it up a bit, to acknowledge it more on social media, like theyhave done in interviews, as the fans are eating it up. Louis supposes that’s what's going on now.

He’s contemplating whether he should reply when he accidentally swipes the button that takes him to his own account, and sees the tweet he sent during their lunch break, yet another selfie of him and Harry. They’ve gone a bit mad really, but as long as the fans continue to love it, Louis supposes they’re doing something right.

[ ](http://imgur.com/Rtk4dDc)

 

They continue to rehearse with Martin for the next two days, the final one being the sort of Grand Finale, so to speak, where they perform for all the higher-ups who (thank god) deem them ready to perform for the masses. Why thank you, yes.

And then they’re off. For three blissful weeks until the tour starts. After nearly five months of constant promo, and interviews, and photo shoots and publicity stunts, those three weeks are a fucking godsend. Louis has the total amount of zero plans and it is glorious.

Or, well.

Technically he does have some sort of plans, him and Harry have to keep up pretences after all, so they’re pretty much spending Christmas together. Louis’ birthday and Christmas eve with Louis’ family, then they’re driving up to Harry’s mum’s for Christmas day, and then… well, actually Louis isn’t sure what happens after that, to be honest. They’re probably gonna separate, spend some time apart, Louis imagines, which for him will probably be lying around on the sofa playing FIFA. Maybe he'll see Stan, or hang out with his family a bit more. He’ll work it out later, that’s the beauty of being off, isn’t it, no need to actually plan too much ahead. Louis is a fan, definitely.

 

 

They’re packed and driving to Doncaster the day before Louis’ birthday, the journey passing mostly in comfortable silence. Harry is doing the driving, so Louis spends the drive trying to settle on a radio station, looking out of the window, taking in the passing fields and houses, and having the occasional snooze. It’s in the midst of one of those that he’s shaken awake by Harry, the younger man holding  his door open, the vehicle no longer moving. He gets out of the car groggily, stretching and trying to wake himself up. Harry moves up next to him, holding both their bags as he waits for Louis to lead the way to the house.

At first glance it seems that no one’s home, which Louis finds strange, considering both his mum and Dan’s cars are in the driveway. They move through the house, calling their hello’s after having dropped their bags at the bottom of the stairs. They check the back garden last, and find the entire Tomlinson-Deakin clan dressed up in their best snow gear, respectively engaged in either what looks like a brutal snow fight or the building of two massive snowmen.

Louis is about to announce their arrival when Harry sneaks his arm around him, and pulls him ever so slightly closer. Louis smiles up at him, meeting  his eyes and seeing the smile mirrored on his face. He snuggles further into him before making their way properly out into the yard.

Lottie is the first who spots them, looking up from where she’s patting the belly of one of the snowmen, Doris perched on her lap, enthusiastically throwing snow at the snowman as best she can.

“You two are so cute,” Lottie calls as a greeting, which alerts the rest of the family to their presence, momentarily stalling the snow fight as they go to greet them.

Jay reaches them first, Ernest perched on her hip as she gives both Louis and Harry a kiss on their cheeks in greeting. “Hello boys,” she says, smile soft and cheeks rosy. “We’re so glad you’re here. Drive was alright? Not too much snow on the ground?”

“No, it was alright, thanks Jay” Harry answers as Louis accepts Ernest from his mum, the younger boy having made grabby hands at him  as soon as he recognised his older brother.

“Hey there, buddy,” Louis says as he clutches Ernest closer to him, vaguely aware that Harry and his mum continue to chat. “How are you doing, huh? You good? Yeah. You build that snowman, did you? It’s very pretty, yes, you’re a very good snowman builder, aren’t you?” He’s gently bouncing Ernie while talking about this and that, making the little boy giggle.

“When are you two going to get one of those?” Lottie questions, bringing Doris with her as she moves up next to their mum.

Louis is still trying to process Lottie’s question (because, _what?_ ) as Harry crouches down so that he’s at Doris’ level, where the little girl is standing by herself in front of Lottie as she holds onto both of Doris’ hands to make sure she doesn’t fall. He gathers her in his arms, lifting her up as he straightens, much to Louis’ tiny little sister’s amusement.

“Give us a few years, eh?” Harry answers, bouncing Doris on his hips, dimples twinkling at Lottie.

“Well, until then,” Jay smiles, looking fondly at the two of them as they each hold their baby. “You can practise on these two as much as you want. They suit you quite nicely.”

Louis is about to reply when he’s suddenly got a twin on each side of him, hugging him close, as Fizzie and Dan make their way towards them as well.

He greets his sisters as best he can with the little boy still clutched in his arms, and watches on fondly as Harry interacts with each of them as well. He fits so seamlessly into Louis’ family, and it makes all the difference, really. He still feels bad about lying to his sisters, there’s probably no helping that, but Harry soothes that ache by just being here. He's once again struck by how fucking grateful he is that everything is so effortless with Harry; it makes all the difference. It’s going to be so strange when they end this, when he has to go out there and figure out how to function outside this two-man-show he’s established with Harry, when he’s free to be with whoever he wants and has to build an actual relationship from scratch and... actually, Louis would rather not think of that, to be honest.

Somehow both Louis and Harry are roped into joining in on the snow fight, Lottie joining as well this time, as Jay takes the twins inside to make everyone hot chocolate for when they’re finished. It’s a proper brutal game, the others deciding that under no circumstances are Harry and Louis allowed to be on the same team, so naturally it develops into Harry and Louis trying to chuck as much snow at the other as possible. Louis clearly has the better aim out of the two of them, three of his snowballs hitting Harry for every one of Harry’s making contact with him.

Sometime after what seems like Louis’ five hundredth snowball has made contact with Harry, the younger man decides to throw caution to the wind. He lets out a cry that would have been better suited for a medieval battlefield than a snowy back garden in South Yorkshire, and charges towards Louis, abandoning the tree he’s been attempting to shield himself behind in favour of the open fields. Really, all he’s missing is a sword and he might as well be taken straight from one of the battle scenes in Lord of the Rings. Or something.

Louis barely has time to register what he's done, much less get over the shock and the ‘what-the-hell-are-you-doing?’ the other boy has got going on, before Harry is tackling him to the ground, the full weight of his body pressing Louis into the snow as he lies on top of him, grinning briefly before dumping a handful of snow on his face.

Louis splutters, shaking his head in attempt to get the cold snow away, away, away from him, but all that results in is the snow making its way down his collar, and yeah, that’s not exactly pleasant. He’s just about to protest, loudly, when he feels Harry’s gentle fingers brush the snow away. He looks up properly and locks eyes with him, returning the smile he’s getting.

Harry leans down and connects their lips softly, just as a massive amount of snow is dropped on top of them, his body luckily shielding Louis from most of it. Harry pulls away, and they both turn their heads to see the twins, Dan, Lottie, and Fizzie standing above them, matching looks of faux innocence on their faces. Louis cocks an eyebrow.

“We were just wondering if you were ready to go inside to get something hot to drink?” Dan says, no longer able to contain his grin.

Louis rolls his eyes and takes a handful of snow, chucking it towards his family as best as he can when lying on his back in the snow. The angle is off, and the snow barely makes contact with their shins, but the twins jump back and shriek anyway. “Be gone, you imbeciles!” Louis says as he fists his hand around the fabric of Harry’s coat. “We’ll be there in a moment.”

He’s vaguely aware of his family shuffling inside, as Harry turns his attention back to him, dimples deep in his cheeks as he smiles at him.

“Hi,” Harry giggles, a wet, gloved thumb running over Louis’ cheek.

Louis laughs quietly. “Hi. What was that, Styles?”

“Hmm?” he hums in question, as he continues to hover over him. It’s quite ridiculous really, Louis can feel the snow seeping into the fabric of his jacket, must surely be halfway to pneumonia by now, but he doesn’t really fancy moving either, so.

“That was quite the battle cry, mate. Have you been watching too much Game of Thrones?”

Harry snorts and leans down to nose along Louis’ cheekbone. His nose feels like ice. “That’s really more of your kind of show, innit?” He asks, mouth close to his ear, and it’s sort of ridiculous, because they spent the better part of their November nights watching the series together, so, well. “Besides, maybe I just wanted to get you in this position, eh? I quite like having you like this.”

If Louis’ cheeks redden, it’s solely thanks to the cold and definitely nothing else. “Is that so?” he says instead, voice coy. “Well. What are you going to do now you have me like this?”

Harry draws back, just enough to meet Louis eyes, his smile still wide and dimples deep. “This,” he says quietly, serenely, before bending down and connecting their lips.

For several moments Louis is just caught up in the pleasure of kissing him, before he suddenly eyes an opportunity, so to speak. As he licks into his mouth, tongue grazing over his teeth and tangling with Harry’s own, his hand moves from his back to the ground, grabbing a handful of snow. He waits just the beat of a heart before moving his hand quickly and releasing the handful of snow over Harry’s head. 

The younger man squeaks in surprise into his mouth before separating their lips and shaking his head, trying to rid himself of all the snow that has taken up residence in his curls. He’s laughing, so Louis feels a bright smile bloom on his own face, as Harry’s twinkling eyes meet his. He leans down to peck Louis on the lips once, chastely, and then pulls back entirely, getting off him and extending his arm to help him up. Louis looks at it warily for a secondbefore taking it, letting Harry haul him to his feet and, thankfully, not drop him on his bum or something.

“You know,” Harry says, as they make their way towards the house, wet, and cold. and happy. “You didn’t have to chuck snow at me to get me to stop kissing you.”

Louis laughs brightly in response as he opens the door, toeing off his shoes so as not to drag melting snow and dirt through the entire house. “Dunno, thought that method was quite effective.”

Harry hums as they both step into the house, taking off their wet jackets and hanging them to dry next to the rest of Louis’ family’s.

“We’re just gonna change into something dry,” he calls as they move up the stairs, and he vaguely registers his mother's sound of acknowledgement coming from the living room. As soon as they’re inside Louis’ room he pulls off his jumper, feeling the chill starting to get to him from his wet jeans and the splotches on the back of his jumper where the water seeped through the fabric of his jacket.

When he’s done stripping, standing in his room in nothing but his pants, shivering slightly from the cold, he accepts the trackies and the new jumper Harry is handing him from one of their bags, which Harry had brought upstairs, Harry did all the packing, actually, so their clothes are just packed into the same bags, not separated into what’s Louis’ and his, so it shouldn't be a surprise really, when he puts on the jumper only to realise that it’s pleasantly big and comfy on him, and also very, very much Harry’s. He kind of suspects that it was on purpose, though.

Harry changes quickly too, putting on his own trackies and the ‘oops’ jumper that was a part of their _Where We Are_ merch. He never knew that Harry had one, but then again, this one is a little bit tight on his shoulders, stretched a bit over his chest, and, well, it could just be because the jumper is two years old and Harry has grown, his body having matured, but it could also be because it 's actually Louis’ jumper. Hmm.

Once they join his family in the living room Jay thrusts big mugs of hot chocolate into their hands and the two of them cuddle up in the big armchair, Louis revelling in the heat that is Harryand the warm liquid in his cup, slowly warming up his still slightly shivering body.

They spend the rest of the day alternating between playing board games and watching movies, Harry either curled up around Louis, helping Jay in the kitchen with preparing for tomorrow, or playing with either Doris or Ernie, or both. It warms Louis’ heart to see him on the floor with Doris, holding her doll as they seem to play some sort of game Louis isn’t even going to pretend to understand.

He catches his mother watching him as he watches Harry and his youngest siblings with a fond smile, but much to his surprise, she never tries to broach the subject.  He'd been quite wary of coming here, if he’s quite honest, only for the reason that he wasn’t quite prepared to discuss what his ‘relationship’ with Harry had turned into with his mother, not quite ready for her questions, and quite sure that she wouldn’t be able to understand the complexity they’ve turned into. She never asks, though.

 

Louis wakes up on the morning of his twenty-fifth birthday to Harry running his hands through his hair; the gentlest wake up, really. He stretches his body before opening his eyes slowly, taking in the younger man, who is wearing nothing but a pair of trackies, as he sits next to him on the bed.

“Good morning, love,” Harry says quietly, continuing to stroke his hair.

“Morning,” he croaks out, smiling gently. He yawns a bit, trying to rid his body of the last amount of sleepiness before continuing. “I gotta say, I’m kind of disappointed, you know? Yeah, I feel a bit cheated, to be honest.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry smiles, his hand now playing with the hair at the nape of Louis' neck, where it’s starting to get quite long. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” Louis starts, turning to lie on his side and propping his head up with his arm. “Since I’m now in a ‘relationship’,” he uses to his free hand to air quote the word. “I should think I would be woken up by a birthday blowjob.”

Harry shakes his head, laughing. “Early bird gets the worm?”

“Hmm,” Louis agrees. “Well, all I can say is that you better not be expecting one come your birthday, is all.”

Harry laughs and trails his hand down Louis’ cheek fondly. “Thought we established no funny business with all your siblings next door?”

Louis hums in recognition, since, well, that is technically true. “Speaking of,” he says. “Where is my loving family?”

Harry looks sheepish and then averts his eyes. “Well,” he confesses. “It’s, um, still kind of early? Yeah, uh, so probably still sleeping, I think.” Louis grabs his wrist, fingers wrapping around it tightly, to look at the watch nestled over his anchor tattoo. About twenty minutes past eight it says. Well. Could be worse, at least. He quirks an eyebrow, clearly saying: well, why?

Harry blusters slightly, but then gets off the bed and moves towards their bags. Louis sits up in bed, watching him as he pulls a small parcel from one of the duffel bags.

“I wanted to give you this,” he confesses sheepishly. “When it was just the two of us, yeah?” He crosses the small room again, handing Louis the present which is neatly wrapped in shiny white paper with a coral bow on top of it. It’s very minimalistic and pretty, and Louis kind of suspects Harry wrapped it himself.

Louis weighs the present in his hands, noting how it barely weighs anything, before looking up at Harry with a smile. “Thanks, Haz,” he says, and makes to remove the ribbon when Harry stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait a minute. Let me take a photo, yeah?”

Louis frowns in reply. “I just woke up, babe, I must look a mess, surely we should spare twitter that?”

Harry shakes his head with a smile, sitting down on the bed next to him, facing him as he runs his hand through his hair, straightening it out a bit and swooping some of it back.

“You look beautiful, love,” Harry reassures as he moves back again, and takes his phone from the bedside table. “Give me a smile, yeah?”

Louis does as he’s told, smiling softly at him with the present lying in his duvet covered lap.  When Harry gets around to tweeting it, it will surely be the most intimate and private picture they’ve released onto social media. All in all, Louis supposes it’s a pretty perfect way to say ‘hey-ho look at us, we’re spending Christmas together’.

“I’ll tweet it a bit later, eh? Open your present now.” Harry says as he sits down on the bed again opposite Louis, watching him with poorly concealed anxiousness. Whatever it is in this parcel, Harry is clearly unsure of how he will react to it. He tries to give him a reassuring smile before turning his attention to the gift, taking off the ribbon with ease before peeling off the tape and slowly taking away the wrapping paper. He’s left with a handful of nearly weightless tissue paper it seems, and the actual content of the present can only be paper itself, Louis muses. He looks up at Harry briefly, only to see the younger lad’s gaze fixed on his hands. He turns his attention back to the parcel, peeling back the tissue paper to reveal a plain, light blue envelope made from a stiffer sort of paper. He hesitates for a moment again, looking up at Harry, only for him to mumble a quiet ‘go on’. Louis does so.

Opening the envelope, he pulls out two tickets of some sort, and upon further inspection sees that they’re for a flight. Two. One bears his name and the other Harry’s. He puts down the envelope to inspect the tickets closer, and sees that it’s first class tickets to Thailand, their flight leaving on Boxing Day.

“Harry,” he breathes out, looking up at his best friend again in awe, not quite sure what to say. Harry is watching him carefully, his lower lip wedged between his teeth as he awaits his reaction.

“It’s, uh, it’s only, like, if you want to, right?” he starts to babble after a moment of silence. “Like, no pressure. Just thought it would be nice, right. Like. You know, like to get away for a bit. Get a bit of a proper holiday before tour starts. Uh, yeah. Unless you have other plans, I mean, you don’t have to, right?”

“Harry,” Louis says again, cutting him off. “Really, fuck, _Harry_. Thank you! This is exactly what I need, darling, this is perfect!” And it really, really is.

“Yeah?” Harry asks quietly, relief flooding his features, his posture slackening slightly.

“Yeah.” Louis confirms with a nod and a squeeze of his hand.

“Right, we, uh. We get back on the 5th of January, right, so that leaves us with two days before tour starts, that alright?”

“Perfect.” Louis nods, squeezing his hand again.

Harry’s smile brightens, as it seems the last shreds of doubt leave him. “Oh,” he says suddenly, reaching out with the hand not holding Louis' to wrap around his wrist. “I was so nervous about your present, I totally forgot to say happy birthday!” He draws in a breath and smiles crookedly at him. Louis’ heart flutters. “Happy birthday, Louis.”

Louis laughs. “Thank you,” he gets out, smiling back at him full force. He was never too thrilled about getting older before, but right now he can’t say that he’s all that bothered. “You really thought I wouldn’t want to go, huh?” he questions curiously, thumb rubbing over Harry’s knuckles.

Harry shrugs sheepishly. “Dunno,” he says. “Thought maybe you, you know, wanted some time away from me. We’ve been spending so much time together lately--”

“Nah,” he cuts him off, shaking his head. “I’m good.”

 

 

See when Louis had mock complained about the lack of birthday blowjobs, he hadn’t been expecting to find himself in the shower with Harry a mere 30 minutes later, but somehow here they are. He’s already halfway to hard just from looking at Harry’s wet, naked body, and that should be embarrassing, perhaps, but he really can’t bring himself to care when Harry is every bit as affected as him.

So, to be honest, he’s kind of expecting Harry to wank him off, maybe even blow him. Like, it’s his birthday, and they’re clearly both turned on already, and now that they’ve somehow made it into the shower together (that was _so_ Harry’s idea – something about saving water, and being nice to the environment, and shit that Louis really just took to mean he’d like an excuse to be naked with him. Whatever, he isn’t complaining), and the radio positioned in the spare bathroom is playing softly, so they should be somewhat safe from being heard as long as they don’t get too loud. So, yeah, _something_ would be nice now.

Instead what Harry says is, “Turn around, yeah?” His voice is soft and eyes fond. He’s barely audible over the sound of the water cascading down on them. “I’m gonna wash your hair.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, because, what? He does as he’s told though, turning his back to him as the younger man reaches in front of him to grab the shampoo positioned in front of him. It’s a moment, and then Louis feels Harry’s hands in his hair, softly massaging the shampoo in, fingertips gliding over his scalp, applying slight pressure. It’s intoxicating, is what it is.

They’ve actually never showered together before, Louis has always thought it to be kind of intimate, and, well, they’re not like that. And they’ve always been at Louis’ where there’s an abundance of bathrooms, so it’s never been a necessity like it sort of is now with this being the only shower available to the two of them. Right.

Harry continues to rub the shampoo into Louis’ hair, and he’s only two seconds from literally purring, which is all sorts of embarrassing, honestly. If anyone is a human version of a cat out of the two of them, it’s definitely Harry. When he apparently deems that he’s cleaned Louis’ hair thoroughly enough, he takes down the shower head and rinses the soap out of his hair, careful not to get any in his eyes.

Louis is about to turn around to face him as he hangs the shower head again, but he’s stopped when his warm hand comes to rest on his wet shoulder, applying just enough pressure to make him stay where he is. When it seems that Harry has become confident that he will be staying still, he loosens his grip and snakes one hand around him, spreading it over the lowest part of his tummy, just above his groin, while the other trails down his back.

The hand trailing down his back is covered in something slippery, which Louis supposes must be soap, and he hasn’t a clue how Harry managed to coat his hand in soap without him noticing but then again, he’s always suspected that the boy was at least part magic, so. A fairy maybe, one of those ridiculous ones who has flowers in their hair and talks to all the animals in the woods, who has birds that braid his hair and—

Harry’s hand has made its way all the way down Louis’ back to his arse, slipping between his cheeks and ghosting over his hole. His body sort of locks in anticipation for what’s about to happen, completely frozen until Harry’s finger pushes inside. He shudders at the sensation, the soap not quite as effective as lube, so it’s just a bit rougher than normal, just a bit more primal. It’s fucking amazing.

Harry doesn’t exactly finger him though, it’s more like he’s… well, it’s almost like he’s just rubbing the soap around a bit, not going very far in, while his other hand rubs small circles on Louis’ tummy.

He’s just about to push back, to demand Harry does something, anything, when he withdraws his hand completely. For a few seconds Louis is confused and missing the pressure of Harry’s finger, is just about to say something, let out a fucking whimper, whatever, when Harry’s fingers are back, this time soap free as they enter Louis’ hole, which is still a slick from the soap.

He hasn’t got a clue what Harry is doing, because it seems like he’s trying to get the soap away, and what the fuck was the whole point then, fucking hell. He's getting so hard, it’s such a fucking turn on being at Harry’s mercy like this, not knowing what's coming next, but knowing that this boy is pretty much a guarantee of the fact that it will end up in a bloody amazing orgasm.

As much as he likes to be the one in control, being the one holding Harry down, being the one pulling the strings, it’s kind of fantastic to be able to just hand over the reins to Harry too. To just trust that he will take care of him.

Harry removes his fingers again after a moment, and Louis is starting to get a little fed up with him being a fucking tease, when he feels him plaster himself against Louis’ body from behind, drawing his arms around him in a backwards hug. His cock is so fucking hard and trapped between Louis’ back and Harry himself, and Louis revels in the fact that at least he’s not the only one so fucking desperate for it. And it’s all just from Harry playing with Louis’ body, fuck. Louis has barely laid a hand on Harry, there’s literally nothing but what Harry’s hands have been doing to him that could have turned him on, and—Louis is getting sort of dizzy, really, like if he doesn’t get off soon, he might actually pass out or something.

Harry’s mouth is right by Louis’ ear when he whispers, sending shivers down his spine. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

The enquiry about what the fuck Harry’s talking about is lost in Louis’ throat as he feels him drop to his knees behind him, the water still falling around them, keeping them warm, though honestly, Louis' every cell feels like it is on fire, he could probably walk naked in Antarctica and still feel perfectly toasty.

The next thing he feels is Harry’s hands spreading apart his cheeks, and then his tongue giving a tentative lick over his hole.

Holy. Fucking. _Shit_.

Okay, so, like the thing with the whole no proper actual relationship with a guy, all one night stands thing is that, well, rimjobs wasn’t exactly a part of the equation for Louis. It had always seemed just a tad too intimate to be something he wanted to go at with a boy he’d most likely never see outside of some award show or celebrity party again.  So, yeah, Louis has never before had another boy’s tongue up his arse, but fucking bloody _hell_ , has he been missing out!

His knees nearly give out when Harry’s tongue licks over him again, and he leans forward, bracing himself against the wall as an attempt not to fall. If these first two licks are any indications of how it’s going to continue to feel, it will be a right fucking miracle if he's anything but a puddle of goo on the floor of the shower stall when they’re done.

Harry fits his lips around his hole and sucks gently, drawing an actual whimper from him as his entire body shakes, the pleasure so overwhelming, and Louis has had some fucking fantastic orgasms – particularly over the last two months with Harry, because like with everything else in their lives, they’re just so, so sexually compatible – but even then there’s still something different about this. Something hot and dirty and, Christ, Harry is licking his arsehole, and it just—it just feels fucking amazing.

Eventually, Harry slips his tongue inside him, fucking in and out with it, prompting small whimpers of pleasure from him. It’s strange, Louis is normally notoriously loud in bed, can moan like a fucking champ and talk so dirty that he once got Harry to come largely untouched from just his words. He’s not quiet. As Harry once so eloquently put it, Louis is loud, loud, loud.

Not right now, though. He literally can’t do anything but whimper, letting out these tiny needy noises he’s not even sure Harry can hear over the deafening sound of the shower or the soft tunes coming from the radio. Louis can barely hear it over the roaring in his ears.

He tries to grab his cock with one hand, so desperate for some pressure he would probably sell his soul to the devil if that’s what he had to do, but his hand is swatted away by Harry. It puts across the message quite neatly, Louis is not allowed to touch himself.

It continues like that for, well, he has no idea how long. He feels so tightly wound with pleasure, like a thread that's been pulled tighter and tighter and tighter, and is now threatening to unravel any second. He feels so good and so desperate at the same time, panting helplessly. His hand travels back around to knot itself in Harry’s wet curls, pulling slightly, and he doesn’t even know what he hopes to achieve with this action, he doesn’t even know if he wants Harry to stop or keep going (probably both, honestly), just that he needs something to hold onto, something to ground him.

When Harry pulls his tongue away from him, he places two closed mouthed kisses over his hole before standing up again. He spins Louis around so they’re facing each other and seems to take in his appearance for a moment, before surging forward and connecting their lips.

He tastes a little bit like soap and sort of musty and—fuck. He kisses Louis with a fervour which seemingly knows no boundaries. It’s not enough though, not enough, even when Harry is close, so close, hands roaming all over him. Not enough, because Louis’ dick feels like it’s going to fucking explode, it’s so hard, he needs, shit, he needs it so bad, needs Harry to touch him so bad.

Harry does. He wraps his massive hand around both their cocks at the same time, stroking them tightly together, his dick every bit as rock hard as Louis’. It doesn’t take long really, not long at all, before Louis is coming, biting into Harry’s shoulder, enough to just break the skin. Harry comes too, as soon as his teeth sink in.

It takes a while after that for Louis to calm down and get his senses back. He doesn’t have a clue how long they stand there, leaning on each other while the water washes away the come between them.

Eventually Harry turns off the shower and somehow guides Louis out of it before wrapping him in a big fluffy towel. Louis feels a bit useless really, but also a lot nice, and he still can’t quite believe that just happened, body still thrumming with pleasure.

They dry off and get dressed in silence, Louis slipping into Harry’s lavender jumper once more. It’s fast become his favourite, and it’s positively massive on him, but it’s also so, so comfortable, soft and warm, and it still smells like Harry. Perfect piece of clothing, absolutely. 

Once he’s dressed, he looks up to see Harry shrugging on an oversized black knitted jumper, and doesn’t really think twice of it before sidling up to him, pressing close and wrapping his arms around his tall frame.

“Cuddle me, please?” he murmurs into his neck, feeling needy and a little bit antsy, and a lot like a good cuddle could help.

“Of course,” Harry says, tightening his arms around him. “Anytime, Louis.” He’s silent for a moment, then, even quieter, “Was that okay, or…?”

Louis laughs into his collarbone, shaking his head fondly. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, lips grazing Harry’s skin as he speaks. “You rendered me literally speechless. Like, it might actually top the holiday tickets on the list of best birthday gifts ever.”

“I’m glad,” he hears Harry murmur into his hair, as he slowly starts to feel somewhat normally functioning again. Harry pulls slightly at Louis’ jumper, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smile. “You’ve grown quite fond of this jumper, huh?”

Louis snorts, before burying his head in the crook of Harry’s neck again. “Mate,” he says. “I’ve been jealous of this jumper for years. Now that I can actually wear it without management shitting a brick, I’m going to, yeah? You’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

Harry hums in recognition and pulls Louis even tighter against him. “I don’t mind,” he confesses, “Though we’re gonna have to share it. I’m quite fond of that jumper myself.”

“Sharing is caring.” Louis states with a smirk, though Harry can’t see it, what with Louis’ face pressed into his neck.

Louis feels Harry nod. “Charity starts at home,” he finishes, before silence settles over them for a few brief moments.

“Have you ever…” Louis starts, before trailing off, not sure why he’s even bringing this up. He coughs slightly before finishing, “Before?”

Harry seems to instantly know what he’s referring to, though that probably isn’t all that surprising, since what else could he really be referring to?

“No,” he admits. “First time, actually.”

And honestly, Louis finds that quite surprising, what with how fucking brilliant at it he was. “Well,” he says, fisting his hands in Harry’s sweater as he takes a step back, allowing space between the two of them again. “You’re really quite the natural. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, dimples deepening, as if it wasn’t perfectly obvious how very gone Louis had been, how he could barely function through the overwhelming pleasure.

“Yeah.” Louis confirms softly. “I’m gonna have to return the favour sometime.”

Harry frowns and then shakes his head, “You don’t have to, Lou, like, that’s not why—“

“I know that’s not why you did it, Haz.” He interrupts. “I want to, yeah?” And it’s the truth, it really, really is. It’s also kind of strange, because he’s never ever had someone who he wanted to do that for, but boy does he want to do it for Harry, wants to make him feel every bit as good as he made Louis feel.

Harry hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Alright,” he says, before changing the subject. “Wanna come downstairs and make breakfast for the others?”

Louis laughs, “Am I really supposed to make breakfast for others on my birthday? Seems a bit backwards, no?” He’s already moving towards the door.

Harry chuckles, “Well, what I meant was, how about I cook breakfast and you keep me company and sample it all?”

“Sounds much better, babe,” Louis nods, as Harry catches up with him, and together they make their way to the kitchen.

 

 

The rest of the day is honestly probably the nicest birthday Louis has ever had. Harry makes waffles per his request, while he sits on the counter picking at the first waffle Harry finished. The rest of Louis’ family filters into the kitchen as Harry is finishing the last waffle, as though they could smell that breakfast was ready. Maybe they could.

From then on it’s a myriad of birthday wishes and an impromptu song started by Fizzie and Harry, and presents from his family. It’s a mixture of bought and homemade gifts, and it turns out that Harry is almost even more excited than Louis when he sees the number of things the twins have made – from painted cups, to paintings, to what Louis thinks was supposed to be a knitted scarf. He’s gushing about where to put it up in their house, and Louis is one hundred percent sure that he's dead serious. It’s making Daisy and Phoebe’s day. Louis' too, if he's being honest.

They all 'awww' appropriately when they learn what he got from Harry, and it’s just a really, really wonderful morning. Just like the last time Harry had been here with him, he just fits so seamlessly and effortlessly into Louis’ family, it’s like he’s always been there, like he is supposed to be here, and it makes Louis so, so happy. He’s always felt so welcome with Harry’s family, always thought of it as a sort of refuge, a place for him to go when it was all going bad, a place where he was guaranteed to be able to be just Louis, just himself, exactly as he is, because there were never any younger siblings who couldn’t know his real sexuality or the fact that he was still friends with Harry.

It’s nice to see Harry feel as genuinely at home with Louis’ family as he does with Harry’s. It’s nice to see Harry and Fizzie joke with each other, or Harry and Lottie gossip about the stars that he knows. It’s nice seeing him so genuinely interested in what Phoebe and Daisy are telling him, or him doting on Doris and Ernest. It’s nice seeing him talk cooking and gardening with Louis’ mum, and golfing with Dan. It’s just so, so nice.

Louis catches his mother’s eyes across the table, and she’s smiling softly at him, eyes knowing. He averts his gaze quickly, picking up conversation with Dan.

After breakfast Harry tweets his photo of Louis, Louis' phone going off as he’s sat in the living room with Doris, trying to entertain her while Harry helps his mother with the dishes. He pulls out his phone after hearing the notification and opens it to see Harry’s tweet. His entire chest feels like it’s going to positively burst.

[ ](http://imgur.com/Uo0RWoK)

[ ](http://imgur.com/ysQ4LmF)

The rest of the day is pretty much everything Louis could have wished for and more. It’s just so lovely being home, being surrounded by all the people he loves the most, missing only the three other boys who he and Harry Skype with individually throughout the day. In the evening his mum makes dinner while Harry makes dessert, and when they are all done eating, Louis and Harry hand out their presents to every one, and the girls are allowed to open theirs while Harry and Louis are still there with them. It had taken one very long day wandering about London together to pick them all out, but it is so very worth it to see how happy they make his siblings. After this, they bid Louis’ family goodbye, opting to drive to Anne’s now since they’ll be leaving her tomorrow evening in order to have time to pack up and be ready for their early flight on Boxing Day.

The drive there is fairly silent, both of them tired after the day and quite anxious just to get to Anne’s. Snow is falling steadily, though luckily not too thickly, so the roads are covered, and it’s dark outside; not altogether too pleasant driving conditions.

They haven’t talked about how it’s going to be when they get to Harry’s parents’ house, even though they are steadily getting closer and closer, and Louis thinks that may be a huge mistake on their parts. It’s the first occasion  outside the time they spend just the two of them at home, or the rare times they’re with the other boys without a single other person present, that they don’t have to pretend to be a couple, and Louis isn’t exactly sure how they’re supposed to handle it.

And it’s different when they’re home at any rate, ever since they started adding benefits to their friendship. Louis doubts Harry has told his mother about that part, even though the two of them are close. There are certain things better kept secret from one's mother. They haven’t even filled in the other boys, though Louis thinks they know anyway, or at the very least suspect. Louis has gotten enough knowing looks from Zayn to realise that the other boy knows something is going on behind closed doors. Surprisingly, he hasn’t brought it up though, and Louis is definitely not going to be the one to, so.

But they should have talked about it, maybe, yes. Just, like... well. What are they supposed to do? Should they sleep apart? They haven’t really got a reason to sleep together is all? Not that they really had at home before they started shagging, but Louis definitely slept better when he was with Harry, right from the start, but… he isn’t really sure sleeping in the same bed is a particularly good idea when they can’t as much as give each other a cheeky handjob. Not even in the shower, because, really, he'd like to see how they'd explain that one away.

So probably best to stay in separate rooms, yes. Fuck—that’s going to be so strange, he really hasn’t slept without Harry for what feels like actual ages, isn’t sure he’s going to be able to. He has to though, there's going to come a time, a time which is moving closer and closer, Louis knows, where this is all going to stop. Where they're going to have to move apart and go back to being just friends, where Louis will finally be able to actually do something to find someone to spend the rest of his life with, someone to have kids with, someone to share everything with. Harry will do the same. It makes Louis feel sick to his stomach.

“I’m probably gonna go out for a few hours with Johnny and some of the lads if that’s okay with you? You know, like I always do?” Harry says eventually, when they’re only twenty minutes from Holmes Chapel. It startles Louis out of his thoughts, and he turns to face the other man, seeing his face tilted slightly towards him as he tries to keep his attention on both Louis and the road. He’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, looking worried, as if Louis would actually ever say no. Ridiculous.

“’Course, H,” he says with a reassuring smile. “It’s no problem, I’m knackered anyway, I’ll just go to bed.”

Harry frowns for a moment. “You could come with me, if you’d like. Johnny wouldn’t mind.”

Louis shakes his head, quite content with the idea of just going to bed, maybe scrolling through twitter; he should probably say thank you for all the birthday wishes and such. Yeah. “No, really, babe. Go have fun with him. You know I’m terrible with time zones, I should probably try to be as well rested for Thailand as possible, and knowing you and Gemma, you’ll have us up by the crack of dawn tomorrow.”

Harry grins sheepishly, before his face morphs into one of uncertainty. “If you’re sure?”

“’Course I am, Harry. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

He finally seems placated, so he nods and smiles at Louis. The rest of the drive passes in silence, the soft Christmas tunes from the radio being the only thing heard over the noise of the car.

When they pull into Anne and Robin’s driveway and get out of the car, Anne is already at the door waiting for them, a big smile upon her face.

“Hi, love,” she greets them, hugging first Louis and then Harry.

“Hi, mum,” Harry grins, kissing her cheek. “I’m just dropping off the bags and Lou here, and then I’m meeting up with Johnny like I usually do. Shouldn’t be more than an hour or two, but I expect you’ll all be sleeping when I get home.”

“Of course, darling,” Anne smiles. “Just drive safe, please, you never know with this snow.”

“Will do,” Harry nods, as he places their bags on the floor before kissing his mum on the cheek again. He looks at Louis, hesitates, clearly caught off guard, because of course his first instinct would be to kiss Louis goodbye too, it’s what they would have done under literally any other circumstances, but now there’s really no plausible reason to.

“See you tomorrow, Haz.” Louis says instead, hoping to ease Harry’s inner turmoil.

Harry nods, an odd expression upon his face, sort of contemplating almost. “Sweet dreams, Lou.” He murmurs before throwing a wave over his shoulder at the both of them and then closing the door behind him.

Louis turns to Anne with a smile, finding the older women already looking at him.

“Care for some tea before bed?” She questions, and continues without waiting for Louis’ answer. “Robin is wrapping the last couple of presents upstairs and Gemma is watching over the shortbread in the oven. I think it’s about due to come out, we could probably sneak one to go along with it. Oh, and happy birthday, of course! I trust you had a nice day?”

Louis nods, “Sounds lovely, Anne. And thank you. And yes, I had a great day.”

They start moving towards the kitchen, as she continues to talk about this and that. Apparently it had been a proper struggle finding a present for Harry (Louis can definitely sympathise), she met up with his mum recently (Louis actually wasn’t aware of that), and she was quite looking forward to attending some of their shows this tour (it still hasn’t sunk in for Louis that they’re only about two weeks from their first show, what the fuck?)

They step into the kitchen just as Gemma is pulling a tray of biscuits out of the oven, the radio softly playing Christmas songs in the background. She sets the tray down and turns around to face him with a warm smile, as she pulls off her oven gloves.

“Louis!” She exclaims happily, opening her arms and stepping towards him.

“Gemma!” Louis grins in return, accepting her in a tight hug. It's been ages since the last they saw each other, despite the fact that she also resides in London. Harry’s gone to visit her multiple times, of course, but he hasn’t had her around the house, and Louis hasn’t been with him to any of the lunches, or walks, or gallery opening the siblings have gone to together.

“Thought I heard you and my brother come in, but I was on strict shortbread watch duty, so I couldn’t go check.” She gestures at to where Anne is now lifting a few biscuits off the tray and onto a cool plate, presumably so that they can cool off enough for them to be able to eat them with tea. “Where is he though?”

“Ditched me,” Louis sighs dramatically, clutching his heart in mock hurt. “Right up and left me, didn’t he? Not even a second glance. Tragic, really. Off to the pub with the mates he likes better than me.”

She grins and nudges his shoulder. “Poor babes, and on your birthday, too, what a scoundrel,” she says, nodding her head in sympathy. “Now everyone will think that he’s come home without you.”

Louis frowns, because yes, that’s true. The whole point of spending Christmas together with each other’s families was that the world would know it, it would seem a couple-y thing to do. So, well, if people are going to see the pictures of Harry at the pub, which there will no doubt be, are they just going to assume that they separated after Louis’ birthday? They’re going to have to do something to solidify the fact that he’s in Holmes Chapel too.

“C’mere,” Gemma says, startling Louis’ out of his thoughts. She’s got her phone out, camera app open. “We’ll take a selfie, yeah? Dispel those poor break-up rumours my brother’s presence at the pub is no doubt stirring, eh?”

Louis grins and nods, because that’s really the perfect solution, isn’t it? They press close together, smiles big as Gemma presses the button of her iPhone, before setting about instagraming and tweeting the photo. She’s still got a massive following on both social media accounts, so Louis has no doubt there’ll be little time before it’s common knowledge that he’s in Cheshire with Harry’s family.

“Done!” She grins at him, putting her phone down on the side as she goes to grab a few mugs out of the cupboard, Anne having gone upstairs to presumably get Robin.

Louis pulls out his own phone to find a text from Harry telling him that there are so many fans at the pub, all of them apparently interested in knowing if Louis was there as well. He quickly texts him to take a look at Gemma’s twitter, along with a winky smiley, before opening his own twitter app and doing exactly that.

[ ](http://imgur.com/VeSpMzz)

[ ](http://imgur.com/1BaksbR)

He lets out a chuckle when he sees what she wrote; he’s always loved Gemma, the two of them getting along splendidly. They converse idly for a few minutes as they wait for the kettle to finish boiling, before a notification sounds from both their phones. Louis pulls his free, and sees that it’s indicating that Harry has tweeted. Curious as to what he has to say, he pulls it up on his phone, and knows that Gemma must have done so too when he hears her quiet chuckle.

[ ](http://imgur.com/YMwUMLJ)

“Little charmer, isn’t he?” she asks, grinning, as they carry the mugs, tea, and biscuits to the table, just as Anne and Robin make their way down the stairs. Louis hums in agreement, throwing a smile her way before going to greet Robin, getting a hug and a ‘happy birthday’ his way.

They spend the next twenty minutes with their tea, chatting, until they seem to reach a general consensus that it’s time to go to bed. Louis goes into the hall to get his bags, and meets Anne by the stairs.

“I made up the bed in the spare room for you,” she says with a smile, as they both make their way upstairs. “Unless you’re sleeping with Harry?”

Louis shakes his head with a small smile of his own. “No,” he says. “It’s fine. I’m knackered, I’ll just go straight to sleep.”

“Alright, love,” she nods, as they reach the door to the spare room. “Have a nice sleep, yeah? I’ll see you in the morning.”

Louis nods and returns the sentiment, before leaning in and giving her a peck on the cheek. “Good night, Anne.”

As soon as he’s inside the room, he grabs his toiletries, making his way to the bathroom. He takes care of all he needs to do quickly, before moving back to his room, stripping down to his pants and getting into bed.

He snuggles into the covers and then opens his twitter app, thumbing through some of the mentions and birthday greetings he’s gotten throughout the day. Finally he thumbs out his own one,  after mulling for a few moments over what to write, and pushes send.

[ ](http://imgur.com/zmW8riz)

He puts down his phone then, supposing he might as well get some sleep now, since he’ll undoubtedly be getting up early – he’s quite sure that Harry and Gemma are every bit as awful as a pair of five year olds, if he’s being honest.

It feels strange, this sleeping alone thing. He misses the weight of Harry’s arms around him, misses the warmth of the other boy pressed against him, misses the gentle rhythm of his beating heart. He’s grown so, so used to having him next to him, so used to it that he nearly caves, nearly gathers his duvet and moves into Harry’s room to wait for him to get back. That won’t solve anything, though, is the thing. If he can’t even sleep one lousy night alone now, how is he supposed to do so after months of a tour with shared hotel rooms? Shared hotel rooms that will surely only have one bed, because there’s no use risking having a hotel employee spreading rumours.

So, no. Louis' gotta man up, really. Gotta get it together. Harry won’t always be there to hold him in his sleep, and he just has to get used to that. Yes.

He squeezes his eyes tighter together, willing himself to go to sleep, when he hears the stairs creak. Harry must be getting home, he hopes. That, or there’s either a burglar, or Father Christmas in the house right now, and all things considered, Louis quite thinks that Harry is the most realistic guess. He hears bustling in the hall outside his door, and someone entering Harry’s room, which is directly across from the spare room.

He doesn’t know what Harry expects, doesn’t know if he expects to find Louis snuggled into his bed and is now presented with the view of an empty one? Maybe he’s relieved to finally get to sleep alone, fuck if Louis knows.

Someone is moving in the hallway again, Louis can hear, and he snuggles further into his duvet as the handle of the door to his room is pulled, careful to keep his breath steady and deep even though his heart is going a mile a minute. He’s not too sure why he’s pretending to be asleep, knows only that it was his instinctive reaction for some reason, and he’s not about to jump ship now.

The door opens slowly, creaking slightly. There’s silence, only overshadowed by the quiet sounds of Harry breathing, as he must peer into the room and see Louis.

“Oh,” Louis hears him breathe out. A few moments pass, and he still hasn’t heard the sound of the door closing, of Harry leaving, knows that the other boy must still be watching him. “Right,” he hears Harry whisper then, before the door closes behind him.

Louis lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, before opening his eyes, peering into the dark room Harry just vacated.

He stays awake long after, tossing and turning, and unable to sleep. When he finally drifts off, it’s to restless sleep and disturbing dreams.

 

 

He wakes up the next morning, to Harry’s gentle voice and his hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, hey,” he says, moving his thumbs to stroke the bag under Louis’ eyes as he blinks them open. “Morning, babe. Happy Christmas. Are you ready to get up? Everyone’s downstairs.”

Louis lets out a small moan and twists his head enough to sort of rub his cheek against Harry’s palm.

“Hey,” Harry says again, concern marring his voice. “Are you feeling okay? You’re looking a bit peaky.”

Louis nods and sighs. “Yeah,” he says, and moves to sit up in bed. “Sorry, I’m just exhausted. Didn’t sleep very well.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says sincerely, looking it, even though he has absolutely no blame in this.

“Not your fault,” Louis shakes his head. “Suppose I just don’t sleep that well alone, eh?”

“Why were you? Alone, I mean. I just—I got home, yeah? And you were in here, and…” he trails off, and it takes Louis a moment to reply.

“Thought we should maybe spend a night apart, you know? I don’t know. Clearly, it wasn’t my brightest idea since I slept worse than that time Liam dragged us camping in the rain and my air mattress lost all its air.”

“I didn’t really sleep that well either,” Harry admits, smiling at him sheepishly. “I’ve grown maybe just a bit used to having you next to me.”

“We’re sad,” Louis sighs with a low chuckle. “Sad and pathetic is what we are. Now shuffle out so I can get dressed, Harold.”

Harry grins and runs his finger down Louis’ bare chest. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

And no, Louis thinks, rolling his eyes, it really, really isn’t.

 

 

The next 36 hours pass quickly, and before Louis knows it, he’s sitting first class on a plane to Thailand. Christmas with Harry’s family had been lovely, relaxed and comfortable, with excellent food and good company. They’d ended up driving home in the evening, after watching Love Actually with Harry’s family, to get a night’s sleep at home before packing up their bags and leaving for the airport. They're flying to Bangkok, and from there taking another flight to the airport in Koh Samui, apparently. It means shit to Louis, really, he’s never been to Thailand, so it’s all just names and places, and odd sounds that don’t mean a thing to him yet. According to Harry, they’re then being met by people from the resort at the airport and taken to a speedboat that’ll take them to Koh Phangan, which is a 30 minute trip away, and also where they’re staying. It’s the island infamous for its full moon parties, Harry informs him halfway through their flight to Bangkok, after they’ve both slept for a few hours and are bored out of their minds.

It’s a long trip, all in all, and by the time they’re finally being handed the key to their private beach front villa, Louis is so knackered he feels like he could probably sleep from now until a good while into 2017. It’s still only dinner time, Thai time, and if there’s anything they’ve learned from their vast amount of travelling and crossing time zones, it's that it’s paramount to get into the rhythm of the local time zone as quickly as possible.

So they make their way to the restaurant connected to the resort to have dinner, and afterwards take a stroll down the beach. It’s so beautiful here, the sand soft and the water azure, the sky void of any clouds and the temperature warm still, even though it’s evening and the sun is low in the sky. The resort is surrounded by green covered hills, small huts of another resort peeking up through the branches in the distance.

And their villa is bloody gorgeous, a huge king size bed sitting in the middle of the room, large windows allowing a beautiful view of the sea, only twenty small steps away. It’s a little slice of paradise really, with a small private pool and plenty of opportunity to just relax. It’s perfect, absolutely perfect for pre-tour energy charging, and Harry is the perfect companion to bring.

They spend the first couple of days just doing absolutely nothing. It’s glorious, and Louis is working up quite the tan. He’s never really been the kind of person who was content with doing absolutely nothing for days on end, but right now he literally can’t think of anything he’d rather do. He pens lyrics for a few potential songs, listens to a lot of music, and even reads one of the many books Harry had brought, and all of it without ever growing restless or bored. There’s something quite magical about this place, a sort of tranquillity that seems to seep into his bones.

It’s private too, the resort, the other inhabitants paying little attention to the two of them being there. They’ve only been asked for one photo since they arrived, a teenage girl on vacation with her family, and they’d both readily complied. It’s not like it was exactly a hardship.

On the second day they’re there, all power cuts off as they’re about to go to bed. It happens in the blink of an eye, Louis one moment half watching BBC news on the TV in their room, the next being surrounded by darkness. A confused Harry enters the room from the bathroom a few seconds later, hair still wet from his shower.

“Was that the power that went?” He asks, as he moves a towel through his curls.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, peering out the large window. “Dunno if it’s just us or…”

“I’ll go ask the reception, yeah?”

Louis nods, ruffling his still damp hair with his hand, willing it to dry quicker. While Harry is gone he finishes getting ready for bed while the temperature in the room steadily rises due to the sudden lack of working fan and air condition. Louis really, really hopes they get the power back soon because he’s never been good at sleeping when he’s feeling too hot, and he knows, without the shadow of a doubt, that if this is how it’s going to be, if it’s only going to get warmer and warmer in their room as the night progresses, he might as well give up on sleep entirely. It’s going to be naught but a distant dream.

“It’s the entire island,” Harry says when he returns, holding a bunch of candles in his hand. “They’re working on getting it back, but it could be a few hours.”

Louis grunts and fall back onto the bed. Brilliant, is exactly what it is. If it weren’t for the mosquitos, he’d probably prefer to sleep outside to be honest, at least it would probably be cooler. However there’s also no saying what might crawl past him, so on second thought, he might just stick to a hot, sleepless night. He’ll just have to take a good, long nap in the sun tomorrow.

He crawls under the covers, and is joined by Harry a few moments later.

“Night, Lou,” the younger man says, running a finger down his bare arm, but otherwise doesn’t move to touch him. It’s not that they’ve stopped cuddling in bed, not at all, but it seems that Harry has wisely understood – quite without Louis having to tell him – that Louis is feeling hot enough without adding Harry’s body heat to the mixture. He’s a saint.

It’s not long before Harry’s breathing evens out, his chest rising in a slow, even rhythm, a dead giveaway that he’s fallen asleep. It’s not that easy for Louis, he tosses and turns, moves from one position to the next in attempt to find some rest, to just fall asleep. It’s the most frustrating thing in the world, and he’s just so, so hot; feels like he might actually melt.

He contemplates everything from spraying himself up and down in mosquito spray and going outside to sit, to going to take the coolest shower ever known to the existence of men. In the end, he settles for at least getting out of the bed, sick of staring at the ceiling.

“Hey,” comes Harry’s sleep-groggy voice as he grips Louis’ forearm, just as he has sat up and is about to swing his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. “Where are you going?”

“Shh, go back to sleep, H,” he murmurs quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Harry shakes his head, sitting up properly in bed, rubbing his eyes with his fisted hands and looking every bit the cutest thing ever. He reaches over to look at his phone before turning back to Louis, the soft light coming from his phone now placed in his lap being the only thing illuminating the room. “It’s three thirty, babe, why are you awake?”

Louis shrugs sheepishly, before replying, “Can’t sleep, s‘too hot.”

“Have you been awake this whole time?”

He shrugs again. “I spose so, yeah.”

“Lou…” Harry breathes out, sitting up on his knees to get closer to him, and taking his face in his hands. “Why didn’t you wake me up? You should have woken me up.”

“You were sleeping, Haz, I didn’t want to disturb you. Besides, it’s not like you could do anything to change it.”

Harry looks contemplative for only a few seconds, forehead creased, before closing the space between them, sealing their lips together. They haven’t actually kissed since getting to Thailand, for some reason. Louis doesn’t even know why, but it’s like they had some unspoken rule to keep all interaction platonic. Maybe it’s that they don’t really have to put on a show here, the mere fact that they’re staying here together is doing its job of selling them as a couple. Louis doesn’t know why they haven’t, but now they are, it’s difficult imagining how he’s gone almost a week without kissing him, now that he feels Harry’s lips against his own again, the kiss soft as Harry sneaks his tongue into his mouth.

Somewhere along the line, Harry pushes him back so he’s lying on his back, Harry straddling his thighs and leaning over him. He gets his hand on Louis' dick, stroking it to hardness before tightening his grip and starting to wank him off properly, all while he keeps kissing him, slow and deep. Louis is panting and moaning into Harry’s mouth as they kiss, and when he feels himself being close, he tugs gently on Harry’s hair, trying to signal it to him. It results in Harry drawing back, releasing Louis’ lips with a loud smack, and then shuffling down the bed to take the tip of Louis’ dick into his mouth, sucking gently and lapping his tongue over the slit.

Louis comes with a breathy moan and an arched back, shooting into Harry’s mouth as the younger man swallows it all.

Afterwards, Harry tucks Louis’ dick back into his pants, before drawing the sheet around their bodies and pulling him close. It’s hot, still so fucking hot in the room, and even hotter now with Harry pressed against him from behind, but his orgasm has left him sleepy and pliant, and after breathing out a soft thank you to Harry, and receiving a kiss on the back of his neck in reply, he finally falls asleep.

 

 

It’s a bit like time passes differently in Thailand, like the days and nights melt together, simultaneously moving at the speed of light and at a snail’s pace. They continue to spend their days doing absolutely nothing, only leaving their villa on New Year’s Eve to visit Haad Rin Beach and the infamous Full Moon Party. It’s so much fun being there, not at all their usual scene and such a normal thing for a pair of lads in their twenties to do. Miraculously, they only get recognized a couple of times, the sheer amount of people, the darkness of night, and copious amounts of alcohol people have consumed all contributing to their anonymity. It’s nice.

They buy small vials of brightly coloured paint, and have a blast painting each other all over their bodies in silly patterns, foregoing the professional painters to do it themselves. They drink the famous buckets and plenty of Chang beer, and Louis feels more twenty-one than twenty-five, and it’s honestly the best New Years Eve he’s had in ages.

Harry is equal parts fascinated and frightened over the many different versions of fire shows – ooh-ing and ahh-ing when it’s professional people doing them, and cringing and hiding his face in Louis’ chest when it’s drunken backpackers. He’s got his iPhone clutched in his hands throughout the entire evening, the other usually occupied by Louis’, and he’s snapping pictures of everything and everyone, especially of Louis. Louis is exactly the perfect amount of drunk to positively preen at the attention he’s getting from him, posing, and smiling, and doing silly stuff for his camera, making him giggle in response.

When they’re sitting in the back of the car that’s taking them home, the driver going faster than Louis would have ever dared in the hilly terrain, he whips out his phone to thumb through twitter, Harry’s head resting against his shoulder, gently snoozing. How he can sleep through this hell of a ride, Louis will never know. He finds two new tweets from Harry, the first either of them have tweeted since arriving in Thailand, though Louis knows that the few fan photos they’ve taken have pretty much confirmed their whereabouts. He opens the both tweets.

[ ](http://imgur.com/XziKup4)

[ ](http://imgur.com/bJQLJj9)

 

[ ](http://imgur.com/13pyDRu)

[ ](http://imgur.com/Pl5kp9A)

Louis chuckles to himself before stuffing his phone back into his pocket and resting his head against Harry’s.

 

 

The next day Louis wakes up to an empty bed, thankfully without a hangover, and checks his phone to see that it’s well past noon. He gets out of bed and goes in search of Harry, finding him lying on the patio in an open shirt, Adidas shorts, and the hat Louis had bought for him. It’s a silly combination, and it definitely shouldn’t look as hot as it does.

“Morning, babe,” he says when he hears Louis approach, but he doesn’t lift his head to acknowledge him, too caught up in whatever he’s writing in that notebook of his.

“Not so much morning anymore,” Louis counters, as he sneaks a picture of Harry, before plopping down beside him and setting about tweeting it.

[ ](http://imgur.com/htSbcye)

[ ](http://imgur.com/wFLwJf9)

When he’s released the picture of Harry to the world he tosses his phone aside, before running his hand through the hair hanging into his face, attempting to push it back only to have it fall into his eyes again. He huffs out a frustrated sigh, slicking it back with his hand, using more force this time but to no avail, as it stubbornly flops right back into his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Harry laughs, having finally closed his notebook and turned his full attention to him.

Louis flops backwards so he’s lying on his back and turns his head to the side to look at him. “It keeps flopping into my eyes, and it’s too damn hot to have this hair all over my forehead, I’m fucking melting.” It comes out grumpy, but sue him, he’s hot and sweaty already, and his stupid hair is sticking to his forehead, and he’s just about had enough of it.

“Wait a sec,” Harr smiles, getting up from where he’s been lying. “I know just what to do. Be right back.”

Louis closes his eyes and wait for him to return. The air is filled with the sounds of the waves crashing and the insects chirping – if you could actually call it that, Louis isn’t sure, he’s not exactly an expert on wildlife.

Harry returns a minute or two later, carrying one of his headscarves in his hand and wearing the biggest grin. “Harryyy—“ Louis warns, but he just cuts him off with a shake of his head, smile not dimming in the slightest.

“Just trust me, yeah?”

Louis sits up again and nods, staying mute as Harry moves behind him and sets to work on his hair. A few moments later, he's tied in the headscarf, like Louis has so often done to him, and steps back with a loud “Voila!”

Louis turns his head to look at him, raising his eyebrow in question, and can’t help but smile as Harry’s own smile widens impossibly.

“Looks really good, Lou. Really, really good.”

Louis plans on wearing it for the rest of their trip.

 

 

On the day before they’re flying back home, Harry informs him over lunch that he’s got a surprise for him. He’s never really been good at surprises, too curious for his own good, but he indulges him and doesn’t pry about it too much. After lunch they pack their bags as good as they can, and go to spend their last few last hours with proper sun on the beach. They’ve both worked up a lovely tan, Louis' skin dark and golden, just like he prefers it. He makes sure to enjoy it as much as he can, revelling in being able to just relax, knows that in only a few days their first tour in two years, their _world_ tour, begins, and time to himself is going to be a very foreign concept.

They have an early dinner in their room and when they’re done eating, Harry grabs his hand and tells him with a big smile that it’s time for his surprise. Besides their time at the Full Moon Party, they haven’t really left the resort, but they’ve already talked about coming back sometime and experiencing more of the local culture, maybe travelling around the country a bit, going up north perhaps. For now Harry merely leads him to the reception desk, speaking a few words with the girl sitting there and receiving something small from her.

He returns to Louis and takes his hand again, leading him outside and stopping in front of a motorcycle which he hadn’t paid any attention to when they'd passed earlier. Harry jiggles the keys he must just have received with a shit eating grin.

“Wanna go for a ride with me?”

Louis refrains from commenting on how that’s basically the opening to _Barbie_ _Girl_ , and just raises an eyebrow, lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “On these roads, Harold? My, my living on the edge, are we?”

Harry shrugs and continues to grin as he hands him one of the helmets from the ground next to the bike. “All the cool kids are doing it.”

“All the insane kids, you mean?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Lou? Come on!”

Louis allows his smile to break out fully on his face, taking the helmet from Harry and putting it on. “Sure, Ken. Just don’t crash us right before our world tour, please.”

Harry sighs in mock exasperation. “Fine then, but only because you said please.”

(If Louis grins just a little bit wider, well… no one can see his face with the helmet on.)

 

He's actually never ridden a bike with Harry before, though he has, much like the rest of the world, seen the many pap shots of him cruising around LA on one. He definitely understands Harry’s fascination, because riding one is fucking brilliant. He’s got his arms tightly wound around Harry’s middle as they drive up and down the roads of Koh Phangan. They’re not going particularly fast, as the road are dubious and badly manufactured, the turns sharp, and Louis has never experienced roads that go up and down so much. And that’s not to mention the ridiculous amount of young backpackers who’ve never sat on a bike before getting on one as soon as they land in Thailand.

So while Louis is quite grateful that they’re not going faster than they are, he’s also itching to; he’ll have to get Harry to take him for a proper ride when they’re back, that’ll have to be the answer.

When they’ve driven for about twenty minutes, and haven’t seen a soul for at least the last ten, Harry pulls over. They’re high up, a fence preventing them from being able to fall to their deaths into the ocean surrounding the island, and he parks the motorcycle. They’re got a clear view of the sun as it's setting over the ocean, casting orange rays into the blue water and painting the horizon a myriad of oranges, purples, and blues.

They stand there for a while, watching as the sun disappears, pressed close against each other. When the sun has disappeared into the sea, Louis puts his arm around Harry’s waist, leaning further into him, and rests his head on his shoulder. He feels Harry put an arm around his shoulders, before pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Thank you,” Louis says after a moment. “Really. Thank you so much for this, H. It’s been brilliant.”

Harry squeezes him closer and merely mutters quietly, “Thank you for coming with.”

Eventually Harry draws away with a small smile. “Ready to drive back? We better do it before it gets totally dark.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, as they take the few steps to the bike as he ponders his option. “Actually, there’s something else I wanna do first.”

Harry straightens from where he’d been bending down to pick up their helmets, and turns to face Louis. ”Oh?”

Louis’ grin turns wicked as he moves closer to Harry, applying pressure to his chest with his hands to get him to sit down on the bike. “Yes,” he confirms, as he leans into him, taking a step even closer as Harry’s thighs fall apart and make room for him in between. He's staring up at him wordlessly, as Louis peers down on him contemplatively. The height difference isn’t much to Louis’ favour, but it’s there a little bit, and it’s kind of nice having to be the one to bend down for once.

He closes the distance between them, moulding their lips together. It’s pretty much muscle memory by now, how Harry likes to be kissed, and it feels good to have reached this state. Louis loves it when you get to the point where you don’t have to overthink every little swipe of your tongue, every movement of your lips, where it just comes naturally, and it’ll be exactly like the other wants it to be. They’ve got kissing down to a science, really.

He moves his hands down Harry’s chest, covered only in a tank top, and pops the button of his denim shorts when he gets there. He tries to silently communicate to Harry that he needs the him to lift his bum off the bike slightly to allow Louis to slide the shorts and his pants down his legs. Harry pulls away from him instead.

“Lou,” he gasps, drawing back further to be able to look at Louis fully. “Lou, we’re right by the road, anyone could come by, oh—“ he lets out a moan as Louis starts sucking a bruise into his neck. “Lou, Lou, Lou, Lou,” he whines, hands raking down his’ back. “Please, Lou, we can’t do this here – Oh, God – Lou, fuck, let’s just get home, come _on_ —“

Louis pulls back to look him in the eyes, cupping his jaw in his hands. “Where’s your sense of adventure, love?” he asks with a wicked grin. “No one’s gonna come. Well, besides you, I guess. Anyway, isn’t the possibility of getting caught like, half the fun?”

Harry actually outright moans at that, and lifts his hips off the bike enough to allow Louis to slide his shorts and pants down his thighs, just enough to free his cock. He’s already fully hard, and Louis almost feels like he should pat himself on the shoulder and give congratulations on a job well done. There are more pressing matters at hand though, so he resolves to wait until he’s at least made Harry to come.

Louis sinks to his knees, ignoring the sharp pebbles digging into the bare skin of them, and the general discomfort of the ground. He fists his hand around the base of Harry’s cock, and moves to take the head into his mouth. As he suckles on the head gently, Harry’s hand moves to his hair, fisting there but not pulling, more like he’s trying to ground himself.

“Lou, Lou, Lou, _Lou_ ,” he mutters, moans, _chants_ , already seeming desperate.

Louis’ only answer is to remove his mouth from the head to lick along the vein on the underside, making his thighs tremble. He takes the head into his mouth again, sinking down lower this time and gently scraping his teeth over the shaft, careful not to apply more than just the ghost of pressure. Harry’s hand tightens in his hair and he pants, mumbling incoherently, and Louis has to resist the temptation to smirk, because, well, because he made Harry feel like that. Fuck. He feels extraordinarily proud of himself, like being able to put Harry in a state like this is some sort of astonishing feat. It kind of is. Maybe. Not many people have gotten to at any rate, it’s a bit of a privilege, really. Louis is nothing if not lucky. Great sex and a boy who is very, very much his best mate and possibly the best human being on entire planet Earth, what more could one really ask for?

He keeps bobbing his head up and down, until he can feel that Harry's getting close in the way his stomach muscles tighten under his thumb where his hand is cupping his hip, digging a bruise into one of the ferns tattooed there. He pulls off entirely, making Harry whine low in his throat as he mutters incoherent pleas of ‘please, please, Lou, come on, _please’_ , and draws in a big breath before sinking down again, taking Harry’s length further and further into his mouth until it hits the back of his throat and he’s got his nose pressed against warm skin and coarse hair.

Harry seems to be rendered speechless, unable to communicate anything but panting, sounding so, so hot. Sweat gathers at Louis’ brow as he breathes in through his nose, and—

“Lou, Lou,” Harry’s breath comes out in short gasps, and Louis has to press the hand that was previously holding the base of Harry’s cock against his own obvious erection. “I’m gonna— I’m gonna—“

Louis hums in recognition, the vibrations going straight to Harry’s dick, and when he swallows around him, it seems to be the last straw for the younger man, because with a drawn out ‘ _Fuck’_ he’s coming down Louis’ throat.

When he pulls off, he looks up through his lashes at Harry who is staring at him with glassy eyes and a look of wonder, and pulls his pants and shorts back up before tucking in his softening dick.

Harry slides down from the bike, sitting on his knees opposite him, one leg on each side of him. He leans forward and catches Louis in a kiss; must be able to taste himself on Louis’ tongue, but he doesn’t seem to mind, kissing him like he's water in the middle of a drought. He moves his hands from where they're cupping Louis’ cheeks, sliding them down over his chest until he reaches his basketball shorts. He moves to slide his hand down them, and as much as Louis wants that, wants that so, _so_ much, wants Harry’s hands on him right fucking now, because he’s so hard he feels like he might actually explode from it all soon, he grabs his wrist to still him.

“You don’t have to,” he says, feeling like a right bloody martyr, a masochist, or—or something. It’s just important, it’s so, so important to him, suddenly, that Harry knows that’s not why he did it. He voices this out loud, and Harry replies by leaning forward and planting a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I know. I want to.”

 

 

They land in Heathrow after another problem free flight, having left Koh Phanang early in the morning and being transported straight to the airport on Koh Samui where they flew to Bangkok and then onwards to Heathrow. As they hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night, Louis spent the majority of their flight with his head resting against Harry’s shoulder, slipping in and out of sleep. They’d changed into warmer clothes during their two hour long layover at the airport in Bangkok, aware that they were going to be returning to English winter, and to be honest Louis wasn’t exactly looking forward to that, having gotten used to the heat of Thailand.

Neither of them had brought a winter jacket, but luckily a car was arranged to pick them up from the airport, so it shouldn’t really be a problem. What might be a problem though, was the fact that Simon Jones had called them just this morning to inform them that there would be a wall of paparazzi waiting for them at the airport when they got back. Brilliant.

As soon as they step out of the airport, they’re met with camera flashes and shouts coming from all directions, and Louis is only wearing a tank top with a hoodie over and he’s really fucking cold, and so, so not in the mood for nosy paps shouting at them, asking them who tops and whether they've joined the mile high club, or if they’re fighting, or have broken up since they’re not holding hands. Because clearly it’s an absolute must to always, one hundred percent of the time, hold your significant other’s hand, yes, of course. Harry puts his hand on his shoulder, and they ignore the paps as best they can as they walk towards the car waiting for them, quickly getting inside it as soon as they reach it. Thankfully it’s nice and warm, and Louis may or may not have a small kip as they’re driven back to their house.

By the time it’s evening and time to go to sleep, Louis is in no way feeling it. He’s got a sleeping Harry next to him, the younger man having always been better at dealing with jet lag and getting into the required daily rhythm than he is, and he also suspects that Harry didn’t sleep quite as much as him during their travels.

Out of boredom Louis pulls out his phone, having not looked at it at all for the past few hours, ever since he briefly talked with his mum after he called just to inform her that they’d gotten safely home. Though she’d have seen the pap shots sooner rather than later anyway, so. He finds that Harry has apparently tweeted something 30 minutes ago, which must have been when Louis was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. He opens the tweet, curious to see if it’s anything related to him or their trip.

[ ](http://imgur.com/EGAN2AQ)

Frowning in confusion, Louis clicks to check what the tweet Harry replied to says. He falls asleep with a smile on his face ten minutes later.

[ ](http://imgur.com/fNoemD9)

[ ](http://imgur.com/o3Ith6c)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you've got the time, or have anything to day, or even if you don't, please leave a comment - it means so much!
> 
> If you need more And Then a Bit, check out the [character asks](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/tagged/atab-character-asks), or send some of your own if there's something you're curious about - it takes me a bit longer to answer them now, because I'm literally revising every waking moment, but I have them in my inbox, and I _will_ answer them all. 
> 
> It'd also mean a lot if you'd reblog the [masterpost](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/post/87329470195/infinitelymint-and-then-a-bit-pairing) for the fic. Or just come say hi on [tumblr](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Hope to see you next Friday xxxx  
> 


	10. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's Friday again, would you look at that. Time sure does fly, eh? 
> 
> A massive, massive thank you to everyone who read, left kudos and commented so far, you guys are all so sweet!
> 
> And of course thank you to [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com) for looking it over and making it much more british and also much better. 
> 
> Also to [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com), because you are a-okay. 
> 
> Credit for the manip in this goes to [Nic](http://tommosloueh.tumblr.com/) THANK YOU so much for letting me use it :)
> 
> Aaaaaaaand the chapter. Hope you enjoy! xx

_Men du tog mig til side og sagde du skal vide_ __  
_Det her kommer ikke hver eneste dag_  
 _Og hvis du bare giver slip så stikker det af_  
 _Det er de ord der hænger ved mig nu_  
 _For hvis ikke os hvem skulle så ku'_

(Marie Key – ”Uden Forsvar”)

**CHAPTER IX:**

So they only have one day to recuperate from their trip to Thailand before the day of their first show, the beginning of their first tour in two years. That might not be all that smart, probably, but Louis wouldn’t trade it for anything, even if he is rather awful at dealing with jet lag. Besides, the first day of tour always means that everyone is buzzing with energy, like they might actually be breathing in adrenaline instead of air. So Louis might be fucking knackered now, but he’s quite sure that once he wakes up tomorrow morning, he’ll be more than ready to kick off their world tour in style.

The bed dips next to him as Harry crawls in, sliding up behind and spooning him. He yawns into Louis’ hair, places a kiss on the back of his neck, and Louis is just about to say goodnight when he speaks.

“I think I want to get a tattoo.”

Louis huffs out a laugh, because Harry’s saying it like it might actually be a surprise to him that he wishes to ink himself, when really he's probably more surprised that it's taken him this long to get something new. “Oh?” he says, instead of voicing those thoughts, waiting for Harry to elaborate.

“Yeah— I mean, yeah. Yeah. Uh, not really sure what though. Something small, I think. Just a little one.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums non-committally, burying his face further into the pillow, until he suddenly remembers something he’d read on twitter yesterday. “Actually,” he says, hesitating, “Uh, I read this tweet yesterday where, like fans were wondering why we hadn’t gotten any matching tattoos since we became public…” He trails off and waits for Harry’s reaction, unsure how to continue.

“Oh?” he inquires, after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah, I mean, like... we don’t have to do anything about, but like. Maybe just a little thing would be nice? Just as mates. Just something platonic, it doesn’t even have to have anything to do with each other, we just need everyone else to draw that conclusion, and—“

“Lou,” Harry cuts him off, laughing. “Louis. I’d like that, really.” He pulls Louis against him a little tighter and it almost hurts, but in the very best way. “Solves my problem of not knowing what to get too.”

Louis nods his head, unsure if Harry can even see it in the darkness of the room, but knows he must hear the rustling of the sheets if nothing else. One of his hands move to Harry’s wrist where it’s resting on Louis’ tummy, thumbing over the words that he last had inked into the skin there. It lingers on the three dots that Louis is the artist behind, pressing his thumb into them with light pressure.

“Actually,” Harry says, drawing out the word and speaking even more slowly than usual, “I was just thinking, like, uh. We’re just talking small tattoos, right? Like, so, uh, maybe we could draw one for each other? Like something small, just. Something us, you know?”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Louis asks.

“Well, if you draw a little something that’ll remind me of you, and I’ll do the same, and then we’ll get them as tattoos?”

Louis can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “You do know I can’t draw for shit, right?”

Harry swats his shoulder with exaggerated exasperation. “That’s not the point, Louis. I’m not asking Zayn, I’m asking you, I know I’m not going to get a bloody Picasso piece—“

“Mate, have you seen Picasso’s paintings? Like the bloke is good, whatever, but you do not want to get that on your body, trust me.”

Harry huffs in slight annoyance, retracting the arm that has stayed on Louis’ shoulder. “You could just say if you think it’s a bad idea, I—“

“Hey, no.” Louis interrupts again, grabbing his hand in his own. “No, H, I think it’s a brilliant idea. As long as you don’t have unrealistic expectations about my artistic abilities.”

Harry’s face morphs into a shy smile as he laces his fingers with Louis’. “Okay. Maybe tomorrow? After the first show?”

“After the first show?” Louis frowns. “Will anything even be open?”

“They’ll open for us.”

“They’ll want to turn this into a pap excursion then, you know that, right?”

“They probably would have anyway.” Harry shrugs, and well, he’s not wrong.

“Yeah… That only gives us less than a day to come up with a design, though.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums in recognition. “Not up for the challenge?”

Louis nearly snorts, and oh, is the game on. “Just you wait, Styles, I’m going to blow all your other tattoos out of the water!” He thumbs over the newest one on his wrist subconsciously, tracing the ‘I just want it to be you and I forever…’, and Harry cuddles closer, buries his head in his chest.

“I don’t doubt it.”

 

 

It actually proves to be quite a beneficial deal they’ve made, the challenge giving Louis something to do with all the time he has on the first day of tour. Luckily, it’s in London, so there’s no travelling involved, but there's still plenty of time between waking up in the morning and leaving for soundcheck, and then going through hair, makeup, and wardrobe, until they're finally going on stage. Plenty of time for him to come up with a tattoo design, draw it up (urgh, that’s not going to be pretty) and mentally prepare himself for inking something of Harry on himself. Knowing the other man, it’s probably going to be a kitten, or something. At least that’d be fitting.

It’s post soundcheck and Louis is sitting at the venue, having opted against going back home between now and the concert, racking his brain for a design that’s him. Time’s running out, he still has to actually draw it as well, which is not going to be pretty, and really, Harry is just an arse for giving him such a short time to do this.

And just – something that’s Louis. Something that’s Louis. What does that even _mean_? And something small, and platonic – it’s not like Harry wants Louis’ face tattooed on his back, even if his drawing skills were up to par. So what’s Louis? Something that’ll make Harry think about him when he sees it, something that—

But of course. It comes to Louis suddenly, like lightening from a clear sky, and _of course_. It’s so blatantly obvious that he can’t believe it's taken him this long to come up with it. He scrambles up from the sofa he’s been lounging on and rummages around the room in an attempt to find a pad of paper and pen, and sets about sketching.

Ten minutes later he has to admit that drawing a football is probably easier said than done. He’s got multiple tries on the paper in front of him, and it all looks like misshapen, somewhat round blobs, with a few dark spots. He really is quite shit at drawing.

Drawing up his phone, he calls the only one he can think to help him, tapping his pen on the paper in front of him in impatience, waiting for his call to be picked up.

It takes a few more rings, then, “Hullo?” It’s a female voice that picks up, and Louis is confused for all of two seconds until he realises.

“Hi, Pez,” he says with a smile. “Listen love, it’s been ages since we talked and we gotta do something about that soon, like dinner or something, the four of us, but right now I’m kinda tight on time, so could you get me Zayn?”

Perrie laughs, bright and happy, once Louis has rushed out his words. “Sure thing, Lou. He’s just in the next room, hang on a moment.” There some rustling on her end, and he can hear her muffled call of ‘Zayn!’, before she’s back. “Okay, I’m handing you over to him now. Good luck tonight, I can’t wait to go see you.”

He gets out a “Bye, love!” before it’s Zayn’s voice that meets him.

“What’s up, Lou?”

“I need your help.” He states, choosing the direct approach. “I, uh, Harry and I kinda made this deal to draw a tattoo for the other, but I’m shit at drawing and I really need your help. Like now. Before the show.” He hesitates for a moment, and then tacks on for good measure, “Please.”

He can almost hear Zayn shake his head in fond exasperation through the phone. “Alright, fine, Lou. But I’m having dinner with Pezza first. I can be there in like two hours or so, yeah? That’ll give us a an hour before we need to get ready for the show, alright?”

Louis almost breathes a sigh of relief and grins, “Sounds brilliant, Z. Thanks a lot, see you soon, say hi to Perrie again!”

Zayn grumbles his consent, and Louis swears he can hear him mutter out something that sounds like ‘Someone’s under the thumb…’ but he’s going to be the bigger man and let that one slide.

Well, at any rate, this leaves Louis with two hours to kill, and no idea what to do. He’s buzzing now that he knows what he’s doing, buzzing with energy, because they’re about to start their tour, about to perform in front of thousands of people for the first time in years. It’s terrifying, and amazing, and exciting all rolled into one.

He contemplates calling Harry to hear what the other man is doing for all of three seconds, until he realises that this is his only opportunity to get some sleep before the show, and as much as he’s buzzing with energy, it’d probably be a good idea to get in a bit of shut-eye. And he’s got quite the comfortable sofa at his disposal, so really, it’d be a travesty not to take advantage. Also, he’s pretty sure that Harry himself is at home napping, so if Louis called only to wake him up that’d really serve no purpose. No, sleeping is good. Sleeping is very good. Sleeping it is.

 

 

He wakes up with another person’s lips on his own, and it’s probably telling that he doesn’t immediately freak out, that he can actually tell that they’re Harry’s. Is that even a thing? Recognizing another person’s lips with closed eyes and a sleep muddled brain? Apparently it is for Louis.

He kisses him back with closed eyes, not opening them until he feels the other man smile against his lips now that he knows he's awake.

“Hmm,” Louis hums against his lips as he opens his eyes. He’s met with the green of Harry's, so, so close, the colour vibrant and beautiful, and he thinks he could probably stare into them forever.

 “That’s a nice way to wake up.”

Harry’s grin grows and he leans down to peck him on the lips a final time, before pulling all the way off. “Zayn's looking for you.”

“Well,” he smiles, running his hand down Harry’s chest, “Maybe I’d rather spend my time with you.”

Harry’s grin remains, stretching his face almost obscenely, to the point where it almost looks painful. He’s beautiful. “So little time,” he starts to sing, his hand running over Louis’ thigh. “So much to do.”

Louis lets out a laugh and stretches his body, trying to get the last traces of the heaviness of sleep to leave his bones. “I really gotta find Zayn. Tattoos to draw and all that.”

“Heeyyy,” Harry whines, tracing the inseam of Louis’ jeans with his thumb. It’s not distracting at all. _It’s not._ “Thought you were gonna draw it?”

Louis instinctively leans forward to kiss him again, and follows the kiss with a reassurance, “I am. Don’t worry, darling.”

It seems to placate Harry, and the younger man leans in to peck his lips again, before scrambling away to allow Louis to swing his legs off the bed. “Hey,” he calls as Louis is about to exit. “Don’t check twitter until after we get the tattoo, yeah?”

Louis furrows his brow in confusion, but ends up giving a small shrug, deeming it too inconsequential to bother thinking too much about. “Whatever you say, darling. See you later?”

Harry nods with a smile, having taken his place on the sofa Louis just vacated. “Yeah,” he says, and then, “Oh, Zayn is waiting in wardrobe, by the way. There’s dinner there too, you should grab something to eat.”

Louis nods before parting with a small wave and a smile. He makes his way to wardrobe, only a couple of doors down from where he’s been lounging, finding Zayn sitting there, having a chat with Caroline, who they’d managed to rope into doing wardrobe for them once again. There was something comforting, they’d agreed, about being surrounded by the crew they loved.

“Hi Z,” he says, as he lets himself fall onto the sofa next to Zayn, “Hi Caroline.”

“Louis,” Caroline acknowledges him with a smile, before getting up from the sofa. “I’ll leave you boys to whatever it is that’s you’re doing.”

As she walks away, silence settles over the two of them, not broken until Zayn raises an eyebrow. “So,” he says, leaning back into the sofa. “What exactly are we drawing?”

“Just a football.”

Zayn snorts and shakes his head, “You can’t draw a football?”

“No.” Louis scoffs, trying not to be too insulted.

“Well,” he says, and gestures towards the pad of paper and pen lying on the table. “Alright then. Give it a shot anyway. Show me what I have to work with.”

Grabbing the pad from the table, he sets about drawing. They keep it up for the next hour, the amount of balled up paper lying around the waste bin, where Louis has chucked it every time he finds himself utterly unsatisfied with his attempts, has reached ridiculous proportions towards the end, and yet Louis’ football is still quite shit.

He’s contemplated several times just having Zayn draw the goddamn ball, but in the end something’s stopped him every time. To be honest, it’s probably the knowledge that Harry would prefer a shitty football drawn by Louis to a perfect one drawn by Zayn, he is quite sure. Yes.

It’s timed so perfectly that you'd think it was rehearsed, Louis tugckng his best attempt at the ball into his pocket just as Harry walks into wardrobe with Niall, Liam having arrived half an hour ago. Harry makes a beeline straight for him, squeezing in next to him on the sofa and nuzzling his face into his neck.

“Hi,” he murmurs, soft and sleepy, pliant and lovely.

“Hey babe,” Louis breathes, turning his head to kiss his temple.

“Got the tattoo drawn?”

Louis hums in confirmation. “It’s pretty shit, so I get if you don’t want it after all, but, yeah, it’s done.”

“I want it.”

Louis shakes his head in fond exasperation. “You haven’t seen it yet, love.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry shakes his head, thumb moving over the rope on Louis’ wrist. “You made it, so I want it.”

“Alright.” Louis says softly, as Caroline calls for them all to get dressed in their stage clothes.

They start to get dressed, pulling on skin tight jeans as Lou spills into the room, takes one look at Harry’s curls, mussed up from sleep, and hurries out of the room again. She returns a few moments later, a bottle in her hand,and  sets about spraying Harry’s hair with what Louis assumes is water. When she’s got it sufficiently wet, she combs it back, because apparently that’s supposed to help. Louis hasn’t got a clue.

There’s an intern snapping photos for their twitter account, supposed to document the stages leading up to having them on stage, sort of hype it all up for the fans. He approaches Harry about a picture as he's standing shirtless in the middle of the room, a flannel  shirt in his hand with a look of contemplation on his face, like he’s not quite sure if he wants to wear it.

Harry nods at the intern, before grabbing Louis’ arm, pulling him to his side.

“Come on,” he grins, “Together, yeah?”

Louis smiles involuntarily and kisses his temple. “’Course, babe.” He grabs one side of the shirt in Harry’s hand, holding it up in front of their faces. Harry catches on quickly, holding up the other end so that it’s only their eyes and the top of their heads visible. Louis raises his eyebrows just in time for the intern to snap a photo.

The rest of the time before the show passes in the blink of an eye. They get dressed, and Lou comes into the room armed with products, swinging brushes and hair dryers, spraying hairspray and throwing dollops of hair wax at them, until she deems that they look satisfactory. And before they know it, Paul is approaching them, telling them that they’ve got two minutes before they need to go on stage. Two minutes. Fuck. It’s been building up to this for months, and now it’s here. For so long it seemed like such an abstract concept, and it’s almost incomprehensible that all this time has passed so quickly, that they’re now on the brink of really, really making their comeback.

They huddle together, pressing close, and Harry is right next to him, hand resting on his shoulder, thumb digging into the back of his neck, like he’s trying to reassure Louis of his presence. And then it’s him, Louis knows it’s him who has to take the initiative now, has to offer some kind of encouragement, some kind of reassurance, because he has always been kind of like the unspoken leader of the band, and even now when they’re standing here together, mid-twenties and seasoned performers, four other pairs of eyes turn to him, waiting for his words.

“We’ve done this a million times,” is what he says after a moment, because they’ll get a routine going, a small chant or whatever as the tour progresses, but right now is the first show, the first show in forever, and all that needs to be said is that it’s going to be fine. It’s going to be just fine. “We know how to do this, and we’re gonna smash this concert, yeah, lads? We’re going to fucking smash it!” There’s a general murmur of consent, and then Niall lets out a ‘whoop’ and a ‘HELL YES!’ and it’s like all the tension is released from them, replaced with pure adrenalin streaming through their veins. Performing is the biggest high there is.

It somehow ends up in a mass cuddle, Louis reaching out and grasping the limb closest to him, holding on tightly and squeezing.

“Alright, alright, break it up lads,” comes Paul’s voice a moment later. “We need you to get into position now, you’re going on stage in less than a minute.”

Louis nods his head in acknowledgement and draws away from the others. He’s about to move towards the place where they’ll be entering the stage, when he feels a hand clasping his upper arm and spinning him around. He barely has time to register that it’s Harry, before he's pulled him towards him and pressed their lips together, cradling Louis’ face in his hands. The kiss is hard and over with quickly, Harry pulling back while panting slightly, looking into his eyes with this fierce expression Louis doesn’t know how to place.

“Good luck out there, yeah?” Harry finally says, taking a step back, and Louis can only look at him dumbfounded for several moments, until Paul is calling out ‘20 seconds!’ from behind them.

“You too,” Louis says quietly, running his thumb over Harry’s wrist quickly, before turning around and preparing himself for what’s to come.

“Ten seconds,” Pauls voice calls again, and Louis’ heart is thudding loudly in his ear. “Eight, seven, six,” the band starts playing the intro cords to _Never Changed_ , an obvious choice for their opening number, as it was fast and upbeat and fun, and a perfect way to cement their entire journey. “Five, four,” they can hear the screaming from the fans, knows that right now they’re seeing a montage of clips from over the years, intermixed with the boys as they are now, seeing Harry and Louis cuddled up together in bed as Zayn burst in to drag them with him (Louis might imagine it, but he’s pretty sure they scream just a little bit louder at the part where Harry gets out of bed in all his shirtless glory), and finally they all gather in what’s supposed to symbolise them being backstage. “Three, two, _one!_ ”

At Paul’s final count, they set off.

 

Running onto stage is the most amazing feeling and Louis realises then that even though he thought he was prepared, even though he thought he remembered how it felt to be on stage, no amount of preparation could ever have made him ready for the feeling that spreads through him once they spill onto the stage. The crowd is screaming and screaming as they emerge, Liam first, then Zayn, then Niall, and at last Harry and Louis. Louis might be imagining it, but it feels like they scream even louder for the two of them.

The biggest grin overtakes his face, and he honestly has no control over it whatsoever. He wouldn’t be able to stop smiling even if he wanted to. He catches Harry’s eyes, and sees his own grin mirrored on his face, eyes sparkling with excitement.

And it’s the most fun he’s had in ages, it really, really is. It’s the most fun he’s ever had in a concert, probably. There’s something about the freedom of not having to censor everything you do, and even if he has to play up his affections for Harry, it doesn’t feel like he has to. It all comes naturally, so there’s nothing forced about it, nothing over thought or strained. It’s just exactly how every concert since they started should have been.

So he goes all out, grabbing Harry’s hand when they power down the catwalk during their duet in _Little Black Dress_ , grinning like a loon when Harry pops his hip and does this little shimmy during the ‘I wanna see the way you move for me baby’ line, staring at him unabashedly all the way through Strong, and finally doing exactly what they’ve choreographed at the end of _Something Great_.

The audience goes absolutely nuts when he sits down at the piano, and Harry introduces the song, saying something about how it’s okay to wish for bigger and better things, because sometimes you might just get it, finished with a none too subtle look at Louis. Louis smiles back at him, as he lets his fingers glide over the keys, and Liam begins to sing. He’s more relieved than he should be when he gets to the end of the song without messing up any notes. When Harry has sung the last ‘is it too much to ask for something great?’ Louis removes his hands from the piano keys, going to do as they agreed during the rehearsing and sing completely a capella. And then the strangest thing happens when he opens his mouth to sing, like they’ve just snapped their fingers and arrived in Japan or something, silence falls over the entire arena – or as much silence as thousands upon thousands of people gathered in the same place can be – and it’s like everyone is collectively holding their breath as he sings, eyes locked with Harry’s.

“You’re all I want, so much it’s hurting.” And just as the last word has dropped from his lips, Harry’s there on his knees in front of Louis, as he grabs his face and locks their lips together.

The effect is instantaneous. The moment Louis stops singing and Harry’s lips are on his, the arena goes _crazy_. He’s never experienced anything like it, and his mouth warps into a massive grin, laughing into Harry’s mouth, as the younger man wraps his arms around Louis and squeezes tight.

He feels loved. Just so, so loved. By every single person in this room, and by the boys, and it’s amazing. He feels accepted, knows that these people who actually chose to spend money on a ticket to see them accept him, knows that they all knew about him and Harry when they pushed the purchase button, knows that they came to see them, came to see them together. It’s mind boggling.

It continues on, the concert, working its way seamlessly through the set, going from upbeat pop-y songs, to soulful ballads, to rocky anthems. They do old classics mixed with most of the songs from their new album, and people love it all – from Louis on the piano during _Little Things_ , to Harry’s uncensored enthusiasm during _Happily_ (and any every song, really). And if Harry maybe sings ‘Lou and I’… well, it’s not like any one is going to tell him off for it. 

During twitter questions, which they’d decided to keep, they get asked what their current favourite film is, and Louis answers Grease, because, well... because it’s the truth and it’s been his default answer since he was eighteen. Harry laughs and starts singing _You’re the One That I Want_ , and next thing Louis knows he’s walking Harry backwards and singing along with the rest of the lads. The crowd goes wild and Louis is so, so fucking happy he feels like he could right up float away.

Towards the end of the show, when there’s only a few songs left, Louis finds himself crooning out his verse of one of the songs Harry wrote for the album, _So Far Away._ He sees Harry on the opposite side of the stage, his back turned to Louis, and he feels a pang of something foreign. A sort of longing, which is so, so ridiculous because Harry is _right there_.

“How don’t you know,  
How I feel about you,  
It’s so hard to understand,  
When it’s all that I am.

How can’t you see,  
That you’re everything to me,  
It tears me apart,  
You’re right here and yet so far away.”

Harry turns around and looks up, just as Louis sings the last word, finding Louis already watching him. And then, with a kind of funny smile, Harry raises his hand, holding one thumb up in their age old signal. Louis breathes out heavily, and returns the sentiment.

 

 

 

The high Louis is feeling when they tumble off the stage, having performed _Don’t Forget Where You Belong_ as their last song, is fucking out of this world. Like nothing he’s ever experienced before, not even when they were performing bloody _stadiums._ His entire body is sizzling with energy, his limbs restless and still bouncing, even when he gets into a car with Harry after they’ve celebrated a successful first show with the other boys and the crew.

His leg is bouncing up and down as the car engine roars into life, trying to somehow give all the extra energy an outlet. Harry’s hand comes to rest on his knee, tracing soft shapes into his inner thigh, and yeah, that’s not really helping.

“Hey,” he says, leaning into Louis and nuzzling his scruffy jaw with his nose. “What’s the matter?”

Louis shakes his head in denial. “No matter. Just. Like, adrenaline, I guess? Just kinda keyed up.”

He feels Harry nod against his neck before the younger man starts tracing kisses along the underside of his jaw. “Me too,” he says, and punctures his sentence with a gentle bite to Louis neck. Somehow Harry seems the very, very opposite of keyed up, and if he doesn’t stop his ministrations just about now, Louis will have to walk into the tattoo joint in front of the paps gathered, with the most obvious boner.

Harry extracts his head, like he knows what Louis’ thinking, after giving him a last gentle kiss on his neck. “We’ll put all that extra energy to good use when we get home, yeah? Tattoos are small, shouldn’t take too long.”

Louis nods and subconsciously traces the piece of paper bearing what’s soon to be Harry’s tattoo in his pocket. “Yeah, sounds like a plan, babe.”

“Should we, like, reveal it now, do you think? What we’ve drawn?”

Louis shrugs, heart suddenly beating a mile a minute, because fuck, what if Harry hates it? Shit shit shit. He tries to keep his demeanour calm, his voice steady when he replies. “Might as well. Give you a few minutes to have a good cry when you see how horrid I really am at drawing.”

“Lou,” Harry says, smiling, thankfully having taken Louis’ statement in jest instead of the insult to himself it really is. “Who says I’m the one who will be crying? I can’t really draw anything but stick figures, remember?”

Louis shrugs with a grin, “Already got one of those, what’s another one, eh?”

Harry nudges him with his shoulder, laughing. “Alright, alright. You wanna show me, or should I go first?”

“Let’s do it at the same time, yeah?”

“Okay,” he agrees easily, producing a piece of paper from his pocket at the same time as Louis pulls out his. They look at each other for a moment, both of them clutching their respective drawings protectively. “Okay,” Harry repeats, “On three?”

Louis takes a deep breath, so ridiculously nervous about this, and nods. “One,” he says, his grip on the paper loosening slightly, “Two,” and it’s not really ridiculous, though, is it? Like, whatever Harry is about to hand him, Louis is going to have that tattooed on his body forever, and—“Three.”

They hold out the paper for the other to see at the same time, and Louis takes Harry’s at the same time as he loosens his grip on his own. They catch each other’s eyes for a brief moment, before looking down at the paper they’re now holding. Louis takes in a deep breath, before unfolding it. It takes him three seconds to process and then he breaks into a fit of giggles, laughter spilling from his mouth without his permission.

It’s a banana.

He looks up at Harry after a moment, when he realises that the other man hasn’t said a word since the reveal. He’s met with a view of the top of Harry’s head as he’s looking down, shielding his expression from Louis.

“Harry?” he asks quietly, carefully. “Is… is it really that bad? I’m sorry, god, I’m so, so sorry. I tried to warn you, I did, I told you I’m shit at drawing, I’m sorry. We can call this off it’s okay, it’s fine, we can work something else out, it doesn’t have to be—“

“Louis,” Harry interrupts him, sounding strangled. “No, no, no, _Louis_. I—I just… it’s just that… it’s just that, like. _Louis._ ”

And Louis doesn’t understand shit, like what is Harry even trying to say? Is that like ‘wow I love it’ speechless, or like ‘wow this is the worst kind of shit I’ve ever seen I hate it so much’ speechless?

“Louis.” Harry says again, quieter now. “Baby, I love it. I do. So, so much. I’m just. I didn’t. Fuck. Like, I just didn’t expect to see so much of you in this. But it is. It’s you, right? And I love it.”

Something warm spreads through Louis’ chest, and he crooks an eyebrow at Harry. “I’m a badly drawn football? Is that like a jab at my footy skills? Or my overall appearance?”

Harry lets out a startled laugh, Louis’ favourite kind of laugh, the one that sort of erupts without his permission – loud and unabashed – so uncontrollable that Harry nearly always throws up a hand in an attempt to contain it. Louis feels so inexplicably proud when he manages to produce that laugh.

“No,” Harry grins, once he’s gotten his laughter under control. “No. Not at all. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. It’s a football and kind of messy but really great, and it’s great ,and it’s you, and I love it!” He’s slightly winded by the time he’s gotten all the words out, talking much faster than Louis has probably ever heard him.

The car stops just as Louis is about to answer, and they exchange a look briefly before Harry lets out a loud exhale and opens the door. The second the door is opened they’re met by a sea of blinding flashes and the air fills with the sound of screaming girls. Louis gets out after Harry, shutting the car door behind him, and grabs his hand. They should maybe, probably have brought along a bodyguard for this. Maybe, probably, definitely.

They do manage to get to the entrance of the shop without incident, Harry stumbling slightly as they enter, and Louis unconsciously reaches out to steady him with the hand that’s not already holding his. Harry thanks him with a smile and a kiss on his temple. It’s fine.

They’re gonna do Harry first, it’s quickly decided, so while Harry and the artist get ready, Louis decides to thumb through twitter. He goes to check their official twitter account first, curious to see how the photo taken of them had turned out.

[ ](http://imgur.com/4kGQOPN)

[ ](http://imgur.com/CkPvLOI)

The amount of retweets and favourites leave him slightly floored, the reception of him and Harry having been so, so crazy. Beyond what he’d ever have expected, can’t fucking believe it’s actually working. He shakes his head and goes to check on Harry’s profile, wanting to see what he was so adamant about Louis not seeing until now.

[ ](http://imgur.com/jm019hH)

[ ](http://imgur.com/eBMt3QA)

And. _Oh_. Just oh.

Like, that’s really quite brilliant when you think about it. Not only have they coincidentally chosen the two things they have each other listed as on their phones, which already clues everybody in to the fact that the tattoos are for each other, but now Harry has also inadvertently confirmed that they’ve drawn them for each other. No way people aren’t going to connect the messy football to Louis now.

“You’re a right sneaky one, huh?” He grins at Harry, laughter in his voice as he runs his hand through Harry’s hair.

“Hmm?” Is Harry’s reply, coming out dazedly.

“The tweet, the picture.” Louis elaborates. “Very clever.”

Harry grins at him lazily. “I am a very clever person.”

Louis hums in reply, before sitting down next to where Harry’s perched, lying on his back, letting his phone drop into his lap. “Where are you getting it?” Louis asks, running his hand down Harry’s chest to settle on his lower stomach, just resting there.

Harry raises his left arm over his head, revealing the inside of his upper arm. “Here,” he says, thumbing over his ‘won’t stop ‘till we surrender’ tattoo that has faded to all but nothing. Louis’ hand moves at its own volition, brushing over the soft skin. It seems almost surreal that Harry will soon have something Louis has drawn on his own body, but that’s also kind of stupid, because he already has the first words Louis ever said in Louis’ handwriting, and that really ought to be the same… it’s just not, though. It’s really not.

 

 

Harry was right, the tattoos are small and quickly over with. It barely takes a quarter of an hour before the tattoo artist is done with Harry, and once he’s got it bandaged, the two of them switch places. It’s quick work getting Louis done too, the banana soon resting amongst Louis’ collection of small doodles on his lower arm. It seems like they’ve barely made it inside the store when they’re thanking the artist, shaking his hand with smiles on their faces, before braving the mass of people outside the parlour.

They manage to get into the car without too much effort, thankful to have a driver waiting for them. And as he settles into Harry’s side, Louis starts to feel the undercurrent of excess energy that had seemed to somewhat hibernate during their tattoo session. It’s back full force now, like it wants to remind Louis that he just performed in front of thousands, and that tattooing is definitely not an adequate outlet for the kind of adrenaline that would generate.

“Still up for spending that energy when we get home?” Harry questions, his broad hand moving down Louis’ thigh, which is bouncing restlessly once again.

“God, yeah,” Louis breathes, unable to find a single thing he’d rather do, or think of a single way that would be more effective at tiring him out than shagging Harry.

“Hmm,” Harry hums, tracing the inseam of Louis’ jeans with his hand, while nosing along his cheek. “I want you to fuck me.” He breathes hotly against Louis’ ear, voice hoarse, but otherwise completely normal, like it’s an everyday occurrence to talk about what kind of dirty things he’d like Louis to do to him. “I want you to take control, use me exactly like you want to. I want you to hold me down and pound into me with that perfect cock of yours. It’s so gorgeous, Louis, love. So pretty, so lovely. Thick and perfect. And you know exactly how to use it, don’t you? Know exactly how to play me, make me feel so fucking good, always make me come so hard I can’t see straight. Best sex of my life with you, you’re the fucking best. So beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and so fucking hot. All that energy, yeah? All that energy that’s making you all jittery, I want you to use that on me, I —“

Louis grabs his chin roughly, shutting Harry up by pushing their lips together. He’s so hard in his pants from his words, truth is he could probably have come in his pants right then and there if he didn’t get Harry to shut up. That’d be all sorts of embarrassing so, yeah, best avoided, that.

He pushes his tongue into Harry’s mouth, and there’s no refined technique or gentle swipes in this, it all primal need, teeth  clattering and rough bites. The only thing restricting him from climbing into Harry’s lap is the seatbelt, and in all honesty safety isn’t exactly his top priority right now, he’d totally undo it if it wasn’t because a Diana type accident with two pop stars who were too horny to stay seated would be all sorts of scandalous. Also he’d prefer not to die. He’d really, _really_ prefer for Harry not to die.

He moves his hand to cover Harry’s crotch, giving it a firm squeeze that has the younger man bucking up into his touch. He’s already at least as hard as Louis and there’s a sort of comfort in knowing that at least he’s not the only one who’s so, so affected by the other.

“Excited are we?” He murmurs into Harry’s mouth, voice low and raspy and so affected already, even when he’s had nothing but Harry’s voice and a kiss or two. His hand is still covering Harry’s clothed dick, and he can feel it when it gives a twitch in response to  his words.

“Fuck,” Harry gets out, it seeming to be an actual struggle to form words. “Mate, I’ve been sporting a semi ever since the tattoo parlour.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, moving his mouth to Harry’s neck, nibbling along the soft skin there as he continues to talk. “Like it to hurt do you?”

Harry lets out a strangled moan, hand moving to clutch Louis’ bicep tightly. “Lou…”

“Do you like it when I leave marks on you?” Louis continues nonchalantly, sucking a bruise into Harry’s neck. “Like it when everyone can see that you’re taken? That you’re mine?” He takes a hold of both of Harry’s wrists and pins them to the car seat, pulling back slightly to look into Harry’s eyes. “Do you like it when I hold you down?” He cocks his head to the side, watching Harry curiously as he looks back at him with hooded eyes, bottom lip red and swollen from where he’s been biting it to keep his noises down. It’s quite the change of who’s in charge, and Louis definitely likes it. “Do you like it when I hold you to the mattress so you can’t move, when you just have to take it as I rock into you?”

“ _God_ ,” Harry gets out, breathing heavy. “God, yes. Please, Louis… Please.”

He places his lips on Harry’s gently, a sweet peck. “Please what, love?” He asks softly, as he releases his wrists and twines their fingers together.

“I want it.” Harry pants, clutching his hands tightly. “Want it so bad. Want it all. Want you. Want you so much.”

“Want me to take care of you?” He asks softly, kissing along Harry’s jaw. “Want me to make you feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” Harry’s voice sounds ruined, and it goes straight to Louis’ cock. “ _Please._ ”

“I’m going to make you feel so good, darling.” Louis promises. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“You do, Lou.” Harry says, bringing one of their clasped hands to his lips and kissing Louis’ knuckles. “You always do.”

 

The spend the rest of the car ride kissing, and it’s such a conundrum how they can go from hot and heavy and dirty, to sweet and caring in two seconds flat, and maybe it seems like a cop out, but everything with Harry is literally so amazing. The versatility is mind blowing, how they can go from whispering filthily in each other’s ears to kissing sweetly, and everything is as all consuming and amazing as the next. Louis has never had that before, has never imagined he might get it. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to let it go.

 

 

They’ve somehow made it to their house and into the bedroom, stripped down to their pants and are currently rutting against each other, Harry on top of him, covering the entirety of Louis’ body with his own.

There’s something so safe and comforting about having Harry’s body covering his, something that makes Louis feel protected and taken care of, and it’s lovely, it’s brilliant, but it’s not what he needs right now. Right now he needs to be the one to take control, the one to take care of Harry. That’s what he promised him after all.

He pushes at Harry’s chest, flipping them over so that he’s the one on top, straddling his hips. Harry goes easily.

“Hi,” Louis says with a small smile, moving back a bit so that he’s seated on his thighs. He takes a moment to contemplate what to do, how he wants him, and it makes him almost delirious with power, the amount of possibilities he has with Harry’s body, the fact that he’s the one who gets to decide, the knowledge that Harry will do exactly as Louis asks of him.

It’s a lot.

“Oops.” Harry grins at him cheekily, hands moving to rub over Louis’ bare thighs.

Louis can’t keep his snort of amusement back as he shakes his head in mock embarrassment. “You’re awful.” He informs him, but all he receives in return is the widening of Harry’s smile.

He climbs off him entirely, ignoring the ‘hey!’ he lets out in protest, and moves towards the nightstand where they keep their lube and condoms. “Turn around,” he absentmindedly instructs him whilst he’s still got his back to him, trusting and knowing that Harry will do as he says. He grabs the half empty bottle of lube and a condom from the drawer, and turns back to the bed. He’s met with the sight of Harry lying on his stomach as Louis instructed, his head turned towards him, watching Louis with badly concealed lust.

“Come on, babe.” Harry says after a moment of silence, reaching his hand out for him. Fondness for the boy in his bed – in _their_ bed – blooms in his chest, and he wouldn’t be able to keep back the smile that takes over his face even if he wanted to. 

He nods quickly, shedding his pants with one hand, ignoring the way his hard cock slaps against his stomach as it’s freed, begging to be touched, in favour of crawling onto the bed and placing the lube and condom next to Harry’s shoulders. He straddles his thighs again and hooks his fingers in the elastic of Harry’s pants, pulling them over his pert little bum. He raises his hips off the mattress, allowing Louis to pull them all the way off, and Louis drops them off the side of the bed, returning his attention to the now naked Harry.

He crawls up Harry’s body, until he’s covering it with his own, his dick nestled in between his cheeks, and he’s really gotta do something about that soon, but first thing’s first—

“This okay?” he asks, lips pressed against Harry’s ear, before he kisses down his cheek to the corner of his mouth.

“God, yes.” Harry nods eagerly, turning his head slightly to catch Louis’ lips in a proper kiss, awkward angle aside. “Just get a move on, yeah? Please.”

“So bossy.” Louis teases, before kissing Harry one last time and moving back. He picks up the condom, pulling it from the package and rolling it onto his dick. He feels settled now, not as desperate and on edge as right after the show or the tattoo, like there’s a certain calm in knowing what’s about to happen.

He coats his dick in lube, making sure to use plenty of it, and positions himself at Harry’s opening. They’ve been worked up for what feels like fucking ages now, it doesn’t feel like there’s any time for foreplay now they’ve made it to the bed, feels like these past few _hours_ have been foreplay. He pushes the head of his dick into Harry’s heat, and it’s tighter than when he’s taken his time to open up Harry with his fingers, but not impossibly so. The human body can manage extraordinary things, Louis thinks, and with Harry’s body being relaxed it allows Louis to press further in before pulling out slightly again and sliding in further with the next push. He continues like this for a few moments, until he’s buried all the way inside Harry, and he plasters his body against the younger man, covering as much of him as he can while they’re still connected.

“This what you wanted?” Louis breathes into his ear, hands covering  his fists and pressing them into the mattress.

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry hisses, squeezing around his dick and trying to get him to move. “God, this feels so good, Lou. You’ve no idea. Lo—“

Louis grunts and cuts off Harry’s sentence as he pulls out of him – almost all the way – before pushing into him again. Harry keens and turns his head into the pillow, hands turning around to clasp Louis’ in an angle that must surely be awkward for his wrists, but Louis' not about to complain about the contact. Harry is rutting against the sheets in tiny movements, completely uncoordinated with Louis’ thrusts, but it doesn’t really matter, the sole objective for him right now is to get Harry off, to please him.

He shifts his angle a bit, trying to nail Harry’s prostate, and he knows the second he gets it right, because it sends a shudder through Harry’s entire body. Both of them are beyond words, Harry panting and letting out these tiny moans that just _do_ something to Louis, while Louis finds himself grunting and moaning like a bloody caveman.

He keeps up the angle that means he’s hitting Harry’s prostate with every thrust, and it’s not long before he knows that the other man is close, can feel it in the way his movements take on a more desperate edge, lose every touch of coordination, become something so primal and based on pure need that Harry probably wouldn’t be able to control it even if Louis asked him to.

Louis focusses all his energy on pleasing Harry, and clutching his hands tighter, he pushes them into the mattress and doubles his speed. He slams into him quickly and efficiently, making sure to hit his prostate every time. He turns his head to mouth at the place where Harry’s neck meets his shoulders, sucking a bruise and nibbling with his teeth. A thrust gets him slightly overbalanced, and his teeth sink deeper into Harry’s skin than intended. He definitely doesn’t seem to mind though as he lets out a deep, guttural moan, tightens around Louis, and comes.

Louis pulls out of him carefully as Harry rides out the last of his orgasm. “Lou,” He rasps, seeming to have realised that Louis still hasn’t come. He tries to turn around, presumably to do something about that, but Louis places a now freed hand on Harry’s back, pressing him down into the bed again.

“Wanna try something,” He gets out, pulling the condom off his throbbing cock which is positively _begging_ him to get a move on, just do _something,_ and grabs the lube once again.

“Anything.” Harry says, voice entirely sincere, like he really would let Louis do anything to him. He probably would.

Louis runs a reassuring hand down his back anyway. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” He says it because he needs Harry to know that he can, and because he means it, of course, but he knows as the words leave his mouth that Harry won’t say anything. In the grander scheme of things they’ve done things much kinkier anyway.

He squeezes a generous amount of lube into his hand, and coats his now bare cock thoroughly, before running a lube sticky hand down the inside of Harry’s soft thigh. He looks up and meets Harry’s eyes, the younger man’s head turned sideways, resting on the bed in order to see what Louis is doing.

“Squeeze tight, yeah, love?” Louis says softly, his dick heavy and hard in his hand, flushed purple at the head from how long he’s been staving off his orgasm.

Louis can actually see the moment Harry realises Louis’ intentions, and his eyes widen almost comically as he wordlessly clamps his legs together, hooking his ankles over each other in order to squeeze his thighs together as hard as possible.

Louis smears the remaining lube in his hand over Harry’s thighs, before positioning himself above them and guiding the head of his cock to the non-existent gap between them.

It’s a tight squeeze, but the sensation is different from what he’s used to when fucking Harry. It’s softer somehow and colder as well, though he expects that will change once he picks up a proper rhythm, the friction generating heat. He’s holding himself up by his arms, starting to feel a slight strain in his biceps as he builds up a rhythm, head thrown back and eyes closed, just trying to let the sensation overtake him, get lost in it, let it submerge him completely. There's so much in their lives that is controlled, so much they haven’t really got any influence on, and it’s frustrating, but here with Harry, when it’s just the two of them and all consuming pleasure, it’s like every problem – no matter how big and important or small and insignificant – just fades away.

If he could live in a moment, if he could live in another person, if he could just fold into a teeny tiny being and crawl into Harry and live there forever, he’d quite like to do that,.

He’s so close to his orgasm already, knows that he won’t make it much longer, and it just feels so good. Harry feels so good. His thighs are to die for, and he’s breathing out these tiny moans that go straight to Louis’ dick, like he might actually be enjoying this too.

He lift his hips from the bed slightly, changing the angle for Louis so that he’s suddenly brushing his dick between the cheeks of Harry’s  arse, and when he presses in again he’s met with Harry’s thumb, the younger man having placed his hand underneath himself as best he can despite the slightly awkward position. He thumbs over the slit of Louis’ cock, and that’s literally all it takes for Louis to come.

There’s no warning. He feels like it’s been building for so long, drawing taut  in the pit of his stomach, like a volcano on the brink of erupting, and when it finally does it’s with a force that could eliminate a minor village. He whites out, collapsing heavily on top of Harry’s back as his cock shoots out between Harry’s thighs, all over his hand.

Harry parts his thighs as soon as Louis’ heavy body has taken up residence on top of him, pulling out the come covered hand from underneath him.

It takes Louis several moments more to regain his bodily functions enough to actually even consider moving away from Harry, and even then he’s not sure he can be bothered.

“Not sure I can move,” he says honestly, kissing Harry’s bare shoulder.

“You’re gonna have to eventually.” Harry whispers, like it’s a secret no one else can know. “I’m quite literally covered in come. I gotta go shower.”

“Urgh,” Louis says, rolling off him to lie next to him on the bed. “You know what I want? I could really go for a cookie right now. Like a warm one, freshly baked, and then sleep. I’d like that, you’d like a shower. We can’t all get what we want, Styles.”

His eyes are closed, and he startles them open when he feels something cold and sticky on his bare abdomen. It’s Harry, the little shit that he is, tracing patterns on Louis’ skin with his come sticky hand. “You should shower too,” he says, and clearly takes note of Louis face that is none too fond of that idea. “No,” he laughs, scooting closer. “No. Hear me out, come on. You should come take a shower with me, get us cleaned up, and then we’ll bake cookies and go to bed.”

Louis turns his head sideways to take in the younger man, eyebrow raised. “That’s ridiculous, Harold. It’s like one o’clock in morning.”

Harry doesn't seem deterred though. “Come on, Lou,” he grins, “Just a quick shower and then cookies. Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and we can pop that champagne we have in the fridge, doesn’t that sound brilliant? We just played our first gig, we should celebrate, yeah?” He pauses for a second, face turning soft before continuing, “Besides, when else are we going to bake cookies in the middle of the night, if not in our twenties? We’re pop stars, Lou. Young hot pop stars don’t go to bed at one. Young hot pop stars bake cookies in the middle of the night. Where’s your sense of adventure? Come be a rebel with me!”

Louis caves. Of course he does, how could he not? He’d quite like to meet the person who is able to say no to Harry Styles. “Fiiiiine,” he says, dragging  it out like a petulant child, though he knows that both he and Harry know that he’s not really upset at all. Quite the opposite, actually. Baking bloody cookies in the middle of the night, just because he’s craving them, is the kind of spontaneity that he loves (also the kind of spontaneity he could never have fulfilled without Harry because, much as he has tried in his years living alone, Louis does not possess the ability to bake anything without burning it).

“Come on, you child,” Harry laughs as he hauls himself out of bed, holding out his hand for Louis to do the same. Louis grabs it and lets himself be pulled to his feet, stretching once he’s vertical again.

They’re both naked and it’s still not awkward, not even now when they’re away from the sexual situation. He’s just so comfortable with Harry, so comfortable with him in every aspect of his life. He fits so seamlessly into everything, like they were made to slot together, and Louis has avoided thinking about these things, has tried to run screaming in the other direction every single time his mind has moved towards giving their arrangement more thought, towards giving everything that’s been happening with Harry more thought.

He’s scared what he’s going to find once he examines everything thoroughly, once he actually just allows his mind to think, unfiltered. So, so scared.

They have an arrangement. They have an agreement. Casual. It works, it _does_.

Louis shakes his head. There’s a time and a place for everything, and much as he’s tried to ignore it, there will be a time and a place for these thoughts as well. At some point.

But it’s not here, and it’s not now.

 

They shower together fairly quickly, and it’s intimate, and familiar, and nice. As soon as they’ve towelled off, Louis puts on a pair of pants and goes back into their bedroom.

“If I change the sheets on the bed, will you start on the cookies?” He asks with a smile, still perfectly aware of how absolutely silly it is of them to be doing this in the middle of the night. Still loving it so, so much though. He turns towards the bed and start stripping it of its soiled sheets as he hears Harry agree.

He kind of hates making the bed, but they’ve gotten down quite a nice routine of helping each other keep the house habitable. Harry’s mostly doing the cooking, because he likes it and because he’s much better at it than Louis, and Louis is the master of the dishwasher. They usually make a game of cleaning the rest of the house, turning up the music to levels that would probably annoy the neighbours something dreadful if not for the fact that Louis’ grounds are big enough for them to be quite far away from their house, and then just dancing around the house swinging the hoover or a duster. It’s nice. It’s almost fun, or as much fun as cleaning could ever be. Louis hasn’t even considered getting a cleaner since Harry moved in, even though they could certainly afford one. It’s nice that their house it just theirs, that the ones who get to come inside their little haven are only the ones they invite in.

When he’s finished, he makes his way to the kitchen and is met with the sight of Harry’s bare arse as he has his back to him, mixing the ingredients in the bowl.

“That’s highly unsanitary, don’t you think?” is his way of greeting Harry, leaning his body against the refrigerator.

Harry turns around to face him, mixing bowl cradled in his arms. “Dunno if it makes much difference, pal. You’ve already had your mouth all over me.”

Louis cocks his head to the side, grin widening. “Touché.”

“Besides,” Harry continues, “Haven’t you heard that cookies baked naked are better than cookies baked clothed?”

“That’s complete bullshit, mate.” Louis snorts, moving towards him and hauling himself on top of the counter next to him. He’s starting to feel the fatigue set in, but it’s in a nice slow way, where everything seems to be moving just a little bit in slow motion, where every second seems to last just a little bit longer, where it’s like the world has been covered in a soft blanket and everything is just lovely.

“Nuh-uh.” Harry shakes his head, grinning as he starts scooping out the cookie dough onto the oven tray. “Scientifically proven and everything, love. Just like the fact that these would probably be better if we left the batter in the fridge for a couple of days.”

Louis shakes his head. “Nobody got time for that.”

“Nobody got time for that.” Harry agrees with a grin. “Hence the naked baking. We gotta be sure they’re quality somehow.”

“That’s utter crap, you just want an excuse to be naked.”

“Don’t really need an excuse with you, do I?” It’s cheeky, and so Harry, and Louis just shakes his head in fond exasperation, as Harry puts the cookies in the oven.

 

They pop the bottle of champagne they have in the fridge as they wait for the cookies to bake, talking over the concert they performed earlier with excitement. If it’s any indication of how the rest of their shows will be, Louis thinks, as he takes a sip of the bubbles straight from the bottle, this tour is going to be above and beyond what they’ve done so far. It’s going to top all their previous tours put together, really. 

As soon as Harry takes the cookies out of the oven, Louis is off the counter ready to inhale them all, but Harry grabs him around the waist and holds him back.

“They’re too hot, Lou,” he laughs, spinning Louis around to face him. “You’re going to burn yourself.”

Louis pouts and whines softly, “Haaaazzz, come on…” He tries to pry himself free of Harry’s embrace but it’s futile.

“Nope,” he shakes his head. “Gotta let them cool a bit first.” Louis tries to make it past him again, but Harry just presses him against the counter, bodies plastered against each other so that Louis can feel Harry’s naked, soft dick against his own clothed one. Harry leans in and catches his mouth in a soft kiss meant to distract him, Louis is sure, and, well, he’d be a terrible liar if he said it didn’t work.

How long they spend kissing against the kitchen counter, Louis has no clue, but it feels simultaneously like several millennia and only a few seconds. After what’s either two hours or two seconds, or maybe, in reality, more like ten minutes, Harry pulls back, smiling softly down at him, and Louis can’t help but run his thumb over his bottom lip, causing the younger man’s smile to widen.

“How about I stick a couple on a plate?” Harry murmurs quietly against Louis’ thumb. “And then we eat them in bed?”

Louis hums happily in response, removing his thumb. “Sounds like a very good idea,” he smiles. The whole kitchen smells deliciously sweet, and if they taste even half as good as they smell, Louis isn’t sure he wants to eat anything else ever again.

They make their way to their bedroom as soon as Harry has put a couple of cookies on a plate and placed the rest in a tin. As soon as they’re under the covers and Harry has placed the plate in his lap, Louis reaches over to take one. It’s still warm and chewy, the chocolate still melted, and it’s so good it puts an instant smile to his face. It’s two o’clock in the morning, and he’s eating freshly baked cookies in bed with Harry. He doesn’t think it gets much better than this, really.

As soon as they’ve finished, they settle into bed, too lazy to get up to brush their teeth. It’s plenty gross, and they’ll definitely regret it come morning, but right now they’re finally too tired to care, having reached the point where not even sugar is going to keep them going anymore. As high as the rush of adrenaline is, as low is the fall afterwards.

Louis wraps his body around Harry’s, and presses his nose against his naked skin. He breathes in the faint smell of apples from Harry’s shower gel, and a thought crosses his mind; what if this is still how it is in five, seven, twelve, twenty years from now?

And, fuck. That’s ridiculous. Stupid. This is hardly meant to last beyond the tour, much less two decades, and Louis _really_ should lay off the champagne and the sugar. Definitely lay off the sugar right before bed. It does funny things to his head, yes.

(As he goes to sleep, he tries not to think of how much he wants this to be how it is twenty years from now.)

He dreams of Harry and him, and a tiny little baby with soft chocolate curls and blue eyes. He only remembers bits and pieces when he wakes up.

 

 

His phone goes off on an early morning a bit more than a week and several shows later, as they’re having a quiet breakfast in their hotel room in Manchester, the radio playing the breakfast show in the background as Harry butters his toast opposite him.

He picks up with a quick “Hello,” before taking a sip of his tea, waiting for the caller to respond.

“Hello, Mr. Tomlinson, this is Amanda Carter, Mr. Griffiths’ personal assistant. I’m calling to inform you that the presence of you and Mr. Styles has been requested in a meeting with Mr. Griffiths, Mr. Magee ,and Mr. Jones today. They’ll meet with you at the venue at four o’clock.”

 _Oh._ That’s… oh.

Louis barely has time to get out his confirmation, before the phone is hung up on the other end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo.... I'd probably call this the beginning of the end. 
> 
> And now...... bad news(ish). I do have the next chapter written, but it's the only one, and since I'm not going to be able to write for the next week or so, as I'm getting nearer and nearer my last oral exam, I'm not going to update next Friday. I could, but then you'd have to wait at least a week between X and XI, and _trust me_ you'd rather wait between this and the next! Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry ( ~~you'll thank me in the end~~ ). I'll have summer break come Monday the 16th, so, besides my concert with the boys, I'll have all the time in the world to write after I've (hopefully) passed theatre history. 
> 
> **HOWEVER** in order not to leave you totally without anything next Friday, I'll do everything I can to get all the character asks I've got in my inbox (there are quite a few) answered and post them on my tumblr then, so send me some if there's something you want to know. To read the ones already answered, check [here](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/tagged/atab-character-asks). 
> 
> It'd also mean a lot if you'd reblog the [masterpost](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/post/87992339990/infinitelymint-and-then-a-bit-pairing) for the fic. Or just come say hi on [tumblr](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/).
> 
> See you here in two weeks xx


	11. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Chapter ten, here it is. It's uhhh... I hope you enjoy? Ish. Let me know what you think.
> 
> And of course thank you to [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com) and [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com) for looking it over and making it much more british and also much better. You guys are the best.
> 
> Also to [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com), because you are a-okay and your vampire-edit-skills were much appreciated. The Harry manip is all her doing, ahem. 
> 
> Also credit for the manip used as Harry's new twitter icon goes [Nic](http://tommosloueh.tumblr.com/) who is absolutely aces!
> 
> ..... dig in?

_Giv mig lidt mere - giv mig lidt mere_  
 _Giv mig et til stik_  
 _Giv mig lidt mere - giv mig lidt mere_  
 _Du må ikke give slip_

(“Uopnåelig” – Marie Key)

**CHAPTER X:**

“So, this whole thing has worked better than we’d ever dared hope for,” Simon Jones says, seated on the other side of the table, opposite Harry and Louis, Richard Griffiths and Harry Magee next to him. “But we’ve agreed that it’s time to think of a strategy to end this. It’s our hope that the established fan base will still stay for your music, and not just for your relationship, and of course we have every intention of playing this as a mutual breakup with the emphasis on the two of you staying friends, so you can finally stop acting with each other in public.  I’m thinking you’re quite excited to get your lives back, no? So let’s get this worked out, yeah?”

Something funny twists in Louis’ stomach at Simon’s words, and he feels almost nauseated, because… because he’s known this was coming, known it all along, but known it in this abstract kind of way, like when you're studying for exams and you know that the date where you have to take them will come, and you know that when the day arrives, it will also mean that it will be all over, but when you’re sitting there buried in books, the fact that the day will come seems like a farfetched dream.

Except this is kind of the opposite, because maybe Louis doesn’t want it to end, maybe Louis has been dreading the expiration date of their little project, maybe he's been dreading it as much as you dread the day of an exam, except this doesn’t have the consolation prize of being followed by freedom. Or it does, of course. It’s going to be the most free Louis has ever been, never has he ever lived a life less affected by lies than the one post this whole thing will be, but maybe he doesn’t want to be that free.

“Right,” he says into the silence that follows Simon’s words. Unease is eating away at his stomach, and he doesn’t know what to say. His head is a mixture of feelings, so many different feelings, and he can’t work out where one ends and the other begins, can’t even sort out what he’s really feeling. He’s so confused, everything is just so confusing and Louis needs a moment, needs a fucking moment, needs all the fucking moments in the world and he can’t even get as much as a few seconds, because three pairs of eyes are staring at them, three people waiting for what they have to say, and—and Harry isn’t saying a word.

“Right,” he tries again, clearing his throat before continuing. “Yes, that sounds—that sounds reasonable, yeah.”

Simon talks and Harry is silent and Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself. Hears sentences such as ‘after the tour’, ‘give the fans the kind of shows they’ve paid for’, ‘spend more time apart’ and he just can’t deal. Can’t fit it all inside his head.

And he realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t know how to continue on with his everyday life without Harry. Doesn’t know how to revert back to how it used to be. Harry’s become such an integral part of his life, of his home and himself. They’ve built a life together somehow, and over the past almost six months he’s never truly stopped to wonder what it would be like once he’d have to peel Harry out of his life again. And it’s not just the sex, or the domesticity at home, or them at work – it’s everything, Harry has wormed his way into everything, into every part of Louis' life, and how is he supposed to remove him when he’s stuck like a particularly stubborn splinter wedged into Louis’ foot. Only more pleasant. Right.

And it’s just… everything has changed, really. There’s no denying that. Everything has changed. Big things, small things, nothing is really the same.

“How does that sound, boys?” Magee interrupts his thoughts, drawing him back to reality.

Fuck if Louis knows, hasn’t listened to a word either of them has said for the last few minutes, knows only vaguely that it was a more detailed plan for their break up, and just—

“Uh, fine,” he says, because really, what else is he supposed to say? ‘Hi, yeah, sorry? Can I get a moment to process all this, because, yeah, I know this was all pretend all along, but I may have gotten some things a bit messed up, and I’m gonna need a bit to sort it all out in my head before I can even begin to contemplate a so-called break up. Yeah, sounds good?’ Right, yeah, not going to happen.

“Just, yeah,” he continues, shrugging, and Harry still hasn’t said a word, not a word or a sound or anything, and Christ is he even _breathing_?  Louis steals a glance at him, and sees him looking resolutely into his own lap, not meeting anyone’s eyes, lips pressed so tightly together they’re turning white. Louis can’t study him any longer without it seeming both obvious and creepy so he continues where he left off. “Just let us know, right? Like, once you need us to do something. This is all your charade after all, so…”

Griffiths nods once resolutely, seeming satisfied with Louis’ answer. “Excellent then. We’ll contact you once we need to start planting the seed, yes? You can go now, I’m sure you’d like to relax a bit before your show tonight.”

Harry’s up and out of the room so fast it seems like he’s just a blur of motion, like a cartoon figure. He’s up, out, and gone, and what the hell?

Louis gets up too, makes his way out of the makeshift office in some nondescript room somewhere at the venue, and exits to see Harry’s retreating figure walking away from him, strides fast and brisk, like he just wants, needs to get away as fast as possible. Louis is so confused.

“Harry!” he calls, following him down the corridor, but to no avail. “Harry!” He yells again, jogging after him, calls his name one last time, and finally manages to stall him. He turns around just as Louis reaches him, his expression void of any emotion, eyes cold, and Louis has never, ever seen that expression on Harry’s face, much less aimed at him.

“What the hell, mate?” Louis asks, nausea churning in his stomach, flight mode well and truly setting in, because this isn’t good, this isn’t going to end well, no way, no way, not with the way Harry's looking at him, like he’s the scum of the Earth, and Louis doesn’t even know what fucking happened? What did he _do_? “Why are you being like this?” He sighs, runs a hand through his long hair and shakes his head slightly. “Look, I’m sorry, I get we should have talked about this, like… before, you know? I shouldn’t just have agreed, we should’ve talked about how we wanted things to play out towards the end. We should’ve discussed it, I’m sorry. Look, I’m sure we can still get a say in it, if that’s what you want, I—“

Harry lets out a sort of hysterical laughter, shutting Louis up immediately. He’s face is no longer void of emotion, no, now it’s a mural of different ones; anger and sadness, hurt and hopelessness. But anger most of all. Harry just looks so angry, looks so, so angry, has actual tears in his eyes, and Louis’ entire being hurts, because apparently he’s the one who made him look like this, and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know how he can fix it, only knows that he one hundred percent, without a doubt wants to.

“You really don’t know, do you?” He shakes his head incredulously, his voice this strange mixture of disbelief and anger, and Louis is honestly so fucking scared of what he’s about to say. “You literally have no idea. I can’t believe I—“

“Harry, what are you _talking_ about?” Louis interrupts, so, so confused, and it hurts all over, hurts inside of him, and he wants it to stop, wants Harry to stop looking at him like that, like he single-handedly ruined his whole world, killed his entire family and maybe even a puppy or two. Wants Harry to look at him like he used to, like he's special, like he hung the moon and the stars, like Harry actually likes him, cares about him, _loves_ him.

“Fuck you, Louis.” Harry’s voice is cold, and he takes a step away from him. He wants to reach out, grab him and prevent him from leaving, but he’s frozen in place, finds that he can’t move at all. “Just. _Fuck_ _you_. If you don’t know why I’m angry, then it never really mattered anyway, did it?”

Louis doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t understand anything. But it’s just as well, because Harry doesn’t stay for more than a few seconds before turning his back on him and fleeing. Louis doesn’t know how long he stands there, all alone in the abandoned corridor, and maybe he should have followed Harry, that would probably have been the right course of action, but it’s like his feet have been glued to the floor, and even if he did end up following him, he wouldn’t even begin to know what to say or do, because he doesn’t understand what’s happening.

It never really mattered? What never really mattered? Jesus fucking Christ could Harry for once just stop being so god damn confusing, stop talking in riddles and just bloody tell Louis what he’s upset about? Clearly Louis has done something, must have done something really fucking bad, because he's never fought with Harry like this, has never had Harry look at him like that, has never had anything but mild irritation aimed at him from Harry.

Harry doesn’t get pissed off, isn’t the kind of person who gets angry or holds grudges. Definitely isn’t the kind of person who gets angry at Louis. He's always had an almost saint like approach to him, always been able to stomach so many more of Louis’ antics than anyone else. One of the reasons why they fit so well together.

Eventually Louis moves, makes his way to the dressing room where the other three boys are gathered, either eating or getting ready for the show. He feels like he might throw up, and Harry’s not here. Harry doesn’t arrive until thirty minutes before the show, which is completely preposterous, and has left the entire crew in an absolute frenzy. Louis has lost count of the number of times he’s been approached about Harry’s whereabouts, and every time he’s had to tell them that he literally has no clue.

The other boys have been eyeing him warily all night, obviously aware that something is wrong (fucking hell, Louis might as well have ‘fighting with Harry’ flashing over his head in neon letters it’s so obvious), but not about to broach the topic in front of their entire crew. Louis is kind of grateful, wouldn’t know where to start or end or what to even say. He doesn’t understand this himself, can’t help but feel like he’s missing such an integral piece of the puzzle, that last one which reveals the whole thing.

Harry is simultaneously getting an earful from both Paul, Lou and Caroline, while Lou is trying to fix his hair and his makeup, and Caroline is fussing over his clothes. He just shrugs and murmurs at them, too far away for Louis to be able to make out what they’re saying, but close enough that it feels like Harry’s presence envelopes him like a cloak. He looks all wrong, a little bit like he’s aged ten years within the last couple of hours. He looks tired and worn, the corners of his lips tilted down like he’s sad. He looks so, so sad. Looks kind of like Louis feels, like he would probably look himself if not for the mask of foundation Lou has smeared all over his face.

He looked angry the last time Louis saw him – now he just looks miserable.

 

He doesn’t get the chance to speak to Harry, none of them gets the chance to speak to him before the show. He’s surrounded by the crew, getting prepped and reprimanded all at once, and it doesn’t allow for any of them to approach him. So as they’re about to go on stage, Louis is really flying blind. Has no idea what to expect, no idea how to act, no idea where they stand. It’s confusing and frustrating, and really fucking terrifying.

There’s no time for huddles, or cuddles, or chants, or reassurances that they’re going to smash this. No time at all. Barely have they lined up before the first bars of _Never Change_ can be heard, and they need to run on stage.

Louis feels so sick to his stomach that for several seconds he’s afraid he might throw up. He’s met by the crowd of thousands of people, and he’s never wanted to be on stage less. He feels so exposed, so vulnerable, so out of control and he kind of just wants to curl up in his bed and sob for a few hours. He doesn’t understand how it could all go so wrong so fast. Just this morning they’d had a leisurely shag in the shower before having breakfast together and watching a film in bed. It was good, it was so, so good, and now it’s just… not.

He’s going to get to talk to Harry after this, he supposes. Will have time to sort it out. Communication, right. He just gotta talk to Harry, tell him that he doesn’t know what’s going on, but that he wants to fix it. Yes. They’re off for the next four days, before their next gig. A mini break in the middle of the UK leg of their tour, and they bloody live together, so no way Harry can avoid him, right? They’ve got a car arranged for the two of them in the morning, he’ll even get to see Harry tonight in their room. Maybe it’s just all a bit of a misunderstanding. Maybe Harry has realised that he overreacted, maybe he just took his frustrations over something else out on Louis, and they’ll sort it out once they talk. Louis is sure they can sort it out if they just sit down and talk it through like rational adults.

He’s kind of forgotten that he’s on stage to be honest, sort of tuned out the screaming crowd, singing along to their songs on autopilot. It’s not until Niall hip checks him that he zones back in, returns to the present, so to speak. They’re between songs, and Niall raises his eyebrows, seeming to ask if he’s okay. He’s really not, but he better not show that.

Zayn and Liam are talking to the crowd, and Louis forces a smile, trying to convey that he’s just fine.

“I don’t know about you boys,” he says into his microphone, stepping closer to the edge of the stage. He holds up his hand over his eyes, looking out over the horde of people, like a sailor taking in a ship on the horizon. “But I’m kind of overwhelmed by this right now.”

“Pretty sick crowd this is, Tommo.” Niall agrees with a sage nod, and Liam and Zayn murmur their agreements. Louis doesn’t know where Harry is, and he turns slightly to look for him as Niall continues to introduce their next song. He’s at the opposite side of the stage, his back turned to Louis as he seems to be interacting with the crowd he’s in front of. He always does that, it’s nothing out of the ordinary, Louis reminds himself, but… but then why does it feel like Harry’s ignoring him?

Because he is, it turns out as the concert progresses. He really, really is. They’ve played a fair few concerts of this tour by now, and never has it felt like this. This is worse, actually, than Take Me Home, which Louis had thought was as bad as it could get. He doesn’t _really_ let himself worry about how Harry seems to be sticking to the opposite part of the stage from where he is, until they get to _Something Great_. Like, Harry still walked the catwalk with him during _Little Black Dress_ , and maybe he seemed to be looking everywhere but at him, and maybe he wasn’t holding his hand like has become the custom, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling Louis has when he’s sung his last line of _Something Great_ and Harry isn’t there.

Harry isn’t there.

And maybe it shouldn’t be a big deal, maybe Louis is overreacting, but--- but it _is_ a big deal. It’s a really fucking big deal, because Harry is ignoring the choreography they’ve been given, is ignoring something they were actually told to do. And it’s shit, is what it is. Louis doesn’t even want to begin to think about what kind of speculation they’ve started today, everybody and their grandma must be able to see how wrong they were on stage tonight. They’re going to wake up tomorrow to break up speculations, and… is that what Harry wants? How are they supposed to ever seem like they’ve remained friends after a breakup that looks to be so hostile? After Harry can barely even look at him? Is this Harry’s way of saying ‘this is it’? As in this is it for their friendship? As in ‘I’m done with you, Louis’? Because that is so not on, Louis is so not on board with that. Fuck, they’ve really gotta talk. Sooner rather than later. He’s just going to have to bite the bullet and confront Harry as soon as they’re back at the hotel, yes. Solid plan that, no way that’s going to go south, nope.

Somehow he makes it through the rest of the show, and he thinks that he seemed pretty normal, hopes he didn’t seem like someone who just had the rug pulled out from under him, just had his entire world practically crashing down around his ears, because Louis has tried missing Harry a lot of times, he missed him back when he kept jetting off to LA every time they had as much as two days off, he missed him when he was touring with Ed, he missed him when he moved out of their shared flat, he missed him back when they’d just met when he had to spend three days without him over Christmas, but somehow he’s never missed him as much as he does right now, standing only a few meters away from him, being so close that he could literally take two steps, reach out his arm, and touch him. It’s a cliché, he’s literally living Harry’s lyrics, but he really is so close, just so close, and yet so, so far away.

And really, it’s just so fucking confusing, Louis thinks, as they leave the stage a final time, because Harry was smiling at him on stage, at least a few times, and it _looked_ genuine, it _did_. But now, as soon as they're off stage, he’s avoiding Louis, not even speaking to him. Louis can’t even fucking find him backstage after the concert, and he's just so, _so_ fucking confused.

It doesn’t take him searching long to be completely convinced that Harry’s already left, and why he’d do that, Louis has no clue. Except to avoid him, of course, that’s the most glaringly obvious reason, and he's going to have a choice few words for him as soon as he gets back to their hotel room. Which might as well be now, he supposes, as he flags down Alberto and asks him to get him a car to leave the venue.

Thankfully the ride back is fairly quick and they’re not interrupted by any fans which Louis is so, so grateful for. The car parks in the basement of the hotel, allowing Louis to make it to his room undetected. He unlocks the door with his key card, and is immediately met with the sense of something being _wrong_. There’s something different about the room, something very, very off.

It takes him several laps around the room, inspecting it, to realise that Harry’s suitcase is missing, every trace of their cohabitation is missing. Harry’s jumper which Louis had tossed over the arm of the sofa just this morning, just as Harry’s toothbrush and every fucking thing he brought with him. Gone.

All that's left is Louis’ clothes, folded neatly in the second suitcase because Harry is still a fucking sweetheart, even when he hates Louis so much that he can’t even stand to tell him that he’s leaving, much less actually spend time in the same hotel room as him. And it just looks so wrong, all his clothes neatly folded and placed in one suitcase. All wrong. Ever since all of this started, they’ve just packed two suitcases with a mixture of their clothes, and it seems so wrong to see one suitcase containing only his. It must have taken Harry ages too to separate their clothes, but he did it anyway, even though they're both going home together tomorrow morning. God, whatever he’s apparently done, Harry is angry. Really fucking angry, and how is Louis supposed to fix something he’s done when he’s not even sure what it is? And, like, Harry can’t just keep running away from him, that’s not how it works. They’re gonna both be home tomorrow, they’ve got four days before their next gig, they’re gonna talk about it sometime then, no way Louis is going through another concert like the one they just performed. Harry can’t avoid him forever.

He sits down on the bed that suddenly seems much, much too big, views the lone suitcase, and he just feels this inexplicable feeling of sadness, weighing down on his chest heavily. And it’s something as simple as having to wear his own clothes, not having Harry’s jumpers be mixed in with his own in the suitcase, not having the lavender knit to curl into or the massive black jumper that dwarfs even Harry. Not being surrounded by Harry’s smell, his very presence. Louis has grown so accustomed to spending practically every waking moment with Harry, it kind of feels like he’s forgotten how to just be himself. He misses him already, he really, really misses him. Even on stage tonight, Harry was _right_ _there_ , and yet he's probably never been further away.

Sighing, he gets up again and moves to his suitcase to find a t-shirt to sleep in. He’s suddenly tired, the happenings of the evening draped over him like a blanket of exhaustion. Carefully ruffling through the clothes Harry’s folded, trying not to mess it up too much so that he’ll have to pack it all again in the morning, he gets out a stack of shirts. He’s just about to grab a generic white one, when he sees a glimpse of something striped. Pulling at the fabric he ends up with a t-shirt that’s decidedly Harry’s, as Louis definitely hasn’t worn anything striped since 2012. He holds it to his face and sniffs the fabric, meeting the unmistakable smell of Harry. He must have forgotten it in his haste to get away from Louis, and Louis’ heart clenches at the same time as he gets up, the top still clutched in his hand.

Normally he doesn’t even sleep in a t-shirt, preferring to sleep in just his boxers or completely naked, but he also usually has Harry draped all over him as a human blanket, and—

Louis puts on the top. It’s a big on him, a bit loose even on Harry, and it cloaks him, makes him feel safer somehow. It’s a poor substitute for Harry, but it’s really better than nothing. He foregoes brushing his teeth, too sad and exhausted to bother, and just crawls under the covers, trying to ignore the empty space beside him that has been occupied almost every day for the past five months.

Despite his exhaustion, it takes him hours to actually fall asleep, and when he finally does it’s to a restless slumber. He wakes up of his own volition at six in the morning, still utterly exhausted and simultaneously unable to sleep anymore. He quickly makes peace with the idea that more sleep is not on the cards for him anytime soon, so he packs up his room, calling room service to get them to pack him up some breakfast for the trip home, and supposes that the earlier he gets home, the less is the risk that Harry has the time to sneak out before he gets there. He calls up the car service too, thankful that it’s one of those 24-hour companies, and that he’s returned to being the kind of A-list celebrity that people bend over backwards to satisfy. He’ll make sure to tip them generously.

That’s how he finds himself on the road by seven o’clock, head rested against the coolness of the window as he mindlessly watches the English countryside pass him by. He doesn’t really fall asleep but he dozes off several times, and soon enough the car is pulling up in front of their house. There’s no light in any of the windows, no indication that anyone’s home, but there wouldn’t really be, would there? It’s only about nine o’clock, Harry could easily still be sleeping. Harry probably _is_ still sleeping.

He tries to keep quiet as he lets himself into the house, moving towards the master bedroom after having dropped his bag in the hall. He ignores the uneasy feeling in his tummy as he moves closer to the door leading into their sleeping quarters. He feels almost nauseated, inexplicably nervous as he pushes the door open, and—

He’s not here.

Harry’s not here.

The bed is as empty as when they left to go on tour more than a week ago, the same jumper thrown carelessly on top of the bedspread where Harry had tossed it when he changed his mind about bringing it with them. He hasn’t been here. He hasn’t been here at all, it’s very, very clear. Which begs the question, where has he gone then? If he left the hotel room with all his stuff, but didn’t go home, _where did he go?_

Before he can think it through too much, he types in a text to him, a simple ‘where are you ??’ and pushes send, before tossing his phone onto Harry’s pillow. He sheds his trackies and crawls under the covers on their bed, burying his face in the pillow that still smells like Harry’s shampoo, and falls asleep again.

When he wakes up there’s still no word from Harry, though there are several texts and missed calls from him mum and the other boys. He doesn’t check any of them.

 

He spends the next few hours in a sort of trance, it feels like, doesn’t really know what he’s doing, how he’s getting time to pass. It’s strange, and he’s confused, and just so mentally exhausted. It feels a bit like he’s entered some strange twilight zone. Harry's mad at him, fuck, Harry left without a word of where he was going, hasn’t told Louis anything, hasn’t even replied to his text to say that he’s at least alive. For fucks sake, for all Louis knows, Harry could be lying in a ditch somewhere, stone cold and dead.

That’s not exactly a pleasant thought, so he tries to keep his mind from wandering down that path.

He’s sitting on the sofa in the living room, and he’s honestly pretty sure that he’s been sitting here doing nothing for an amount of time which would definitely not be classified ‘normal’. He doesn’t feel normal at all now, so it’s probably quite fitting.

A thought suddenly occurs to him, so very obvious that he’s surprised he hasn’t thought of it before now. Harry’s house. _Harry’s_ house. Louis has been so used to thinking of his house as their house, but technically this is Louis’ home, and Harry still has his own, only twenty minutes away. Maybe he’s gone home? Maybe what they need is just Louis showing up there, giving Harry no opportunity to ignore him, and then they’ll just talk this out. Get it sorted, get the misunderstandings cleared. Yes.

They’ll probably be able to quell the abundance of break up rumours there must surely be by now, their odd behaviour on stage having hardly been missed by anyone. If they just talk it through, and make an appearance together tomorrow, that should be more than enough to assure everybody that they’re fine, unless… unless this is about Harry wanting out now? Is that what this is? Is this Harry wanting it to end, Harry being sick of it, Harry being sick of Louis? Why didn’t he just say so then? And why is he mad? Louis can’t even count the number of times they swore not to let this affect their friendship in the long run, they’ve stressed numerous times how the break up will have to happen in a way that allows them to continue their friendship naturally afterwards, but Harry is genuinely mad at Louis now, genuinely doesn’t want anything to do with him. The thought of having lost Harry forever is both nauseating and painful all at once.

Right. He’ll just have to do something about it then, no use bumming around on the sofa. He gets up and makes his way upstairs, brimming with energy now that he’s got a purpose, a plan. He just needs to grab his phone, his wallet, and his car keys, and then he’s off. Fuck that he’s still wearing Harry’s t-shirt and a ratty pair of trackies, fuck that his fringe is messy, and kind of gross and greasy, fuck that he probably looks like death caught him unawares. He’s not going to Harry’s to seduce him, he’s going there to figure out what the fuck he’s done, and to get Harry to forgive him, even if it means getting on his knees and begging. He’s not above begging, he’s not above doing anything that could fix this thing between him and Harry right now.

His phone is tangled with the bedspread, and when Louis finally manages to extract it, it’s yet again filled with missed calls and texts. Zayn’s called multiple times once again, which is strange, really, because Louis wouldn’t expect to hear from him at all during these four days he’s got just him and Perrie. It’s not Zayn’s calls that really trip him up, though, it’s one lone, innocent message from Niall. Six simple words. Six words that kind of bring down his entire world.

_‘Mate, what’s Harry doing in LA??’_

And that’s… that’s a really good question.

That’s a really fucking brilliant question. Question of the year, that. The year and the century and the fucking millennia, and what the _fuck_ is Harry doing in America?!

Louis is sort of frozen in position, half bent over the bed, and the words seem to just ricochet inside his brain, a constant chant of ‘Harry, Harry, Harry’ and ‘LA, LA, LA’.

LA as in Los Angeles. As in America. As in on the other side of the fucking world, Jesus Christ.

They have a four day break and Harry’s flown to LA? Has flown to LA and not even bothered to tell Louis a single thing? Oh, that is just so not on. And how would Niall know? Clearly not from Harry or he wouldn’t be asking Louis why he was there, so… so that means everyone must know? Does that mean that there are pictures of him there? Do everyone know that Harry fucked off to LA for a couple of days and left Louis here? Like, not that he can’t do that, Louis isn’t his mum or his keeper or whatever, but… but he didn’t even say a word. _Shit_.

Louis pulls up his twitter app, certain that twitter will be able to tell him what he wants to know. One of the first things he sees is a tweet from Sugarscape, which makes his stomach twist into knots, nausea burn in his throat. The picture attached is even worse.

[ ](http://imgur.com/gY0MT8t)

[ ](http://imgur.com/fkLh9K6)

 

He turns off his phone, the thing feeling like it’s burning through the skin of his fingers, and he tosses it aside carelessly, kind of hoping it might shatter and break, like it’s its fault that Harry’s in LA, looking like he’s either part vampire or just feeling every bit as awful as Louis.

He sits motionless on the bed for several moments, before he can’t quell the curiosity any longer, a sick need to just know burning in him. He gets his laptop opened quickly, moving almost mechanically as he gets Sugarscape’s homepage opened. Harry’s literally the top news on their site, and the headline he’s met with clenches around his heart like an ice cold hand. 

**_LARRY STYLINSON OVER?! HARRY STYLES SPOTTED DINING WITH OLDER MALE_ **

_Oh, no! Say it ain’t so! Is Harry Styles (22) and Louis Tomlinson’s (25) relationship, lovingly dubbed Larry Stylinson by fans, over only a few months after they went public with it? If so that’s the saddest thing to happen to us since the ending of Titanic. LIKE THAT WASN’T EMOTIONALLY DAMAGING ENOUGH!_

_The lads of One Direction have a short four day break in their busy touring schedule, and here at Sugarscape we’d have thought that the band’s lovebirds Hario and Luigi would be spending that time together as they’ve been pretty much inseparable since coming out to the public in August last year. For the first time since then it seems like there might be trouble in paradise though *cue sobbing*._

_The two men, who have otherwise been quite open with their affections in concerts, seemed off and didn’t interact at all according to fans, and coupled with the rumours of Harry arriving late to the concert and taking off for LA the minute the concert was over, it doesn’t seem too good for the two lovebirds, does it? (We can’t be the only ones who’ve had to inhale biscuits in a steady stream to cope with this, stay strong girls!)_

_Last night’s concert, as well as Harry appearance at LAX where he looked very upset and rundown (just return to your boy, Hazza, and let him cuddle you better, that’s our advice!), has fuelled massive speculation amongst fans on whether the two of them are breaking up. We must admit it’s even planted a seed of doubt in us, and we pride ourselves on being the biggest fans of their relationship to be found. It’s all quite sad, innit?_

_There has yet to be any statements from either boy, and the Tommo hasn’t been spotted since last night’s concert either. Styles was spotted only a short hour ago having an early breakfast with an older male friend. Fans who spotted the two took a grainy picture, and otherwise reported that they were sitting close, and looked very comfortable with each other. Oh, Hazzabear… We gotta say, if this a break up we’re witnessing, Harry sure does move on quickly. Poor Louis. We can only hope that this is all a big misunderstanding, and they’ll be back to being their good old selves by the next concert._

_We, for one, are gonna be very sad if this is the end of Larry Stylinson after they finally got together! While we sit back ~~with popcorn and tissues ready~~ and wait to see how this plays out, why not take a look at the gallery we’ve made of lovely moments throughout their epic love story – just click NEXT! Or comment with your theory below: do you think they’re breaking up??_

Shit. Oh, fucking shit, Louis can’t believe he just read through all of that, can’t fucking get the grainy image of Harry and the man out of his mind, can’t get the way his hand was resting intimately on Harry’s forearm out of his head, can’t forget how close they were sitting, and. No. No, fuck, Louis doesn’t even have a right to be jealous, doesn’t have any right, but, sod it all, he is. He doesn’t want to share, much like he’s never wanted to share Harry with Nick, it’s childish and it’s selfish, but he just want Harry to be his, just want it to be the two of them.

And it’s just… Louis remembers him, remember how Harry used to fly to LA to see him regularly before their hiatus, God only knows how much he saw him during their two year break.

And now Harry’s with him again, flew there without a word the second they had just a few days off, and that’s not okay. _Not okay_. For all intents and purposes Harry is still technically with Louis, he doesn’t just get to go gallivanting off with other men, he doesn’t get to go make the entire world believe that he’s cheating on Louis (he doesn’t get to cheat on Louis, fuck. No, _no_ Harry wouldn’t, wouldn’t ever, not even when he’s mad, not even when this isn’t even real, he wouldn’t…. _right_?).

He doesn’t just get to run away, damn it.

Fuck. Fuck, and why does Louis feel like flying to LA and punching that son of a bitch for touching Harry, and… that’s just unfair. Louis is being possessive, and it’s unfair, and he hasn’t got any right. Harry isn’t his property, Louis has no right to have any kind of say in who can touch him and who can’t, it’s just…

He’s always kind of wondered if maybe they were more than just friends? Back when Harry kept going there, kept spending so much time with him, and Louis couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Harry really had found someone. He’s never asked Harry, and Harry has never mentioned it, so with time he’s sort of just thought that it was him reading too much into an innocent situation, but now… maybe not?

But, just… even if Harry is reconciling with his former lover, boyfriend, sugar daddy, _whatever_ , he wouldn’t do it to Louis like this, right? He wouldn’t. The Harry Louis knows would never make Louis look this bad to the press, would never end what they had with a cheating scandal. No. Just no. Problem is the Harry who gets this pissed at him, isn’t really a Harry that he knows.

But no. No way Harry would ever do this. No, Louis refuses to believe it. He knows Harry, yes. Odd behaviour of the past 24+ hours aside, Louis _knows_ Harry.

And he’s literally got the biggest headache of his life, feels fucking awful – physically and mentally. And just. Just a lot like he could probably sleep from now and until the end of time.

Harry’s made it so, so abundantly clear that he doesn’t want Louis to contact him, that he doesn’t want anything to do with Louis, and he’ll just have to… well, accept it really, what else can he do? Harry flew to fucking LA to get away from him, he’s not gonna chase him there when he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with him.

If he’s lucky, he can get to talk to Harry when they get back to work. Harry’ll have to acknowledge him eventually, so…

He’s going to bed. He’s going to crawl into bed and he’s going to stay there for the rest of their short break, and he’ll only get up to have a wee and to get something to eat. Maybe not even the last one. No, fuck, he’s gotta stop being such a drama queen, yes definitely the last one too, he’s not going to mourn himself into starvation. He’s just gonna crawl into bed, and do nothing, and feel really fucking sorry for himself, and that’s not going to be anyone else’s business. Zayn can just amuse himself with Perrie, and his mum is going to have to survive a few days without talking to him, and Harry clearly doesn’t give two fucks about him, so that’s all fine and dandy just like it is.

He buries himself under the covers, the blankets lying heavy like the feeling in the pit of his stomach. The room is dark, curtains drawn even though it’s not yet night, and Louis can’t help but think that this room is an excellent representation of his emotional state.

Christ, who knew losing his best friend would turn him into such an emo? God, does he feel pathetic.

Even more so when he may or may not have a little cry before falling asleep once again.

 

It’s morning on the day he’s leaving to go back on tour, when he suddenly hears something downstairs. He’s kept pretty true to his vow to stay in bed, watching Breaking Bad from the beginning and not turning on his phone or computer once. It’s felt both therapeutic and counterproductive all at once.

His first thought is that maybe it’s Harry who’s finally come home, but it only lasts a couple of seconds before he hears Zayn bellowing his name from downstairs. He groans into his pillow, not ready to face anyone really, and in desperate need of a shower.

“Louis,” Zayn calls again, voice getting louder as he’s presumably climbing the stairs. “Louis, are you in—“ he cuts off when he opens the door to the bedroom, seeing only Louis’ head peeking up from the duvet. “Louis.” He sighs, moving further into the room and opening the blinds, allowing natural light to finally enter the room.

They’re silent for a few moments before Zayn sighs once more and moves to lie next to Louis on top of the covers. “You haven’t been answering any of my calls, mate.” He states, looking at Louis expectantly.

“Phone’s off.” Louis explains, voice kinda rough from disuse.

“Hmm,” Zayn hums, “Been kinda worried about you, and, you know, with Harry being in LA and you two seeming off and all…” He trails off, but it’s quite clear that they’re cutting straight to the chase, not beating around the bush or anything. When Louis doesn’t answer after a moment, Zayn continues, “When I couldn’t get a hold of you, I called Harry and asked him what the hell was going on… you know, told him I hadn’t been able to get in contact with you these past few days, asked what the hell he was doing in LA…”

He trails off, and Louis prompts him with a soft “Oh,” pathetically desperate to hear what Harry might’ve answered.

“Yeah, he told me to get my finger out of my arse and go see if you were okay. He sounded worried, Lou.”

Louis snorts rather unattractively, and feels the sting of tears in his eyes yet again. So Harry hadn’t minded telling Zayn to check on him, but… “Clearly not worried enough to call himself.”

Zayn stays silent after that, letting Louis’ last words hang in the air between them. He can almost see how they trace lines there, painting the air with heavy black strokes.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s up with you and Harry?” He finally asks, turning on his side to face Louis properly. Something in his expression seems weird.

It makes Louis ask, “What do you mean?”

“Lovers spat?” Zayn questions, raising an eyebrow. Louis furrows his brown in confusion, not sure where he’s getting at. “Trouble in Paradise? Is it--”

“Zayn,” Louis interrupts him, speaking slowly. “You _know_ we’re not actually together, Harry and I.”

Several beats of silence pass between them.

Evidently Zayn did not know that. So. Louis isn’t sure which of them is the most shocked by their personal revelations. Because. Well, what the fuck?! Zayn. Z _ayn_ , out of all people, apparently thought they were together. Just. Literally, what the actual fuck?

“You’re…” Zayn seems to be trying to wrap his head around this apparent newfound information. “You’re not?”

“No.” Louis answers, voice high pitched and slightly hysteric. “No, this is a fucking publicity stunt, you _know_ that!”

“But you’re living together?”

“For appearances sakes.”

“You’re shagging, don’t try to deny it, it’s so fucking obvious.”

“We’ve got needs. Harry’s an amazing shag. It’s not—we’re not… it’s just a friends thing, no strings like…”

“Louis, tell me one thing that would be different between how you are now, and if you were actually in a relationship.” Zayn finally says after several moments have passed, with the controlled calm of someone speaking to an unruly toddler. Louis supposes the comparison isn’t without its points.

And, oh. Just… oh.

Because. Fuck. Because Louis _can’t_ , now that he really thinks about it. They practically are, aren’t they? Even if none of them thought to consider it. Even if it hasn’t been something they’ve acknowledged, they’ve somehow slipped into the routine of a couple right down to Wednesday night sex. Even when it’s just the two of them. Even when they have no one to put on a charade for.

They’ve been like actors in a play, only they just never stepped out of their roles, adapting to them until they _became_ the role, until there was no distinction between what was real and what was not.

Except it hadn’t been a role. It has never been a role. Can’t be divided into what’s real and what’s not, because it’s _all_ real. Everything for them has been genuine, and natural, and--

He’s in love with Harry. _Fuck_.Fuck, he’s in love with Harry. Maybe he always has been. No, not maybe. Probably. Definitely. Shit, it’s always been there, hasn’t it? Always been there, strumming through his body like a second heartbeat. Such an integral part of Louis that he’s never had to ponder it, always been able to brush it away as a friendly love, because Harry is easily the most in important person in his life, and… _fuck_ , he’s really always been in love with him, hasn’t he? Every emotion Louis has ever felt suddenly makes tenfold more sense – his feelings whenever Harry had to stroll around with one of his many ladies, had always been more than just anger over what they were putting Harry through. It was actual jealousy, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself back then.   

And it could be amazing. It could be wonderful. It could be the start of a proper relationship, a proper future for the two of them. It could be marriage, and kids, and happily ever after. It could be everything.

If only Harry felt the same.

And he sees it, with the same clarity that he realised his own love, that Harry doesn’t feel the same way. How could he? He’s Harry Styles, the most beautiful, wonderful, fantastic boy on earth – inside and out. He deserves much, much more than Louis could ever hope to give him.

He’s in love with Harry. Can’t ever envision a time when he might not be. He’s in love with Harry.

But Harry will never love him back.

And he doesn’t understand how he could have been so oblivious, how he couldn’t see it for so long. It’s like his love for Harry rolls off him, like it clings to his skin like a perfume, like he’s so surrounded by it that he can practically taste it in the air. All this time, all this time it’s just been right there, been a part of Louis, been as much a part of him as his right arm, and, fuck, he’s possibly the most oblivious person on the entire planet Earth. It’s so clear to him now, the fact that he was blind to his own feelings for so long seems such a ridiculous notion. 

And Louis, he just… he just breaks. Shatters into a million tiny pieces like fine crystal glass dropped on the floor.

He crumbles, quite literally, folds in on himself, wraps his arms around his own torso as though he’s trying to keep himself together.

And the tears stream down his face. They fall in a steady stream, like they have no intention of ever stopping, not until Louis has dried out, every drop of liquid in his body evaporated. He sobs. It reverberates through his body like tiny earthquakes whose epicentres are located in his belly. He sobs, and cries, and doesn’t even feel Zayn as he holds him close, because suddenly he understands. He understands everything from the past six years. And it hurts.

He’s broken, broken beyond repair it feels like, because the biggest piece of him, the piece nestled right inside his heart, the piece that is so obviously Harry, will never be able to be glued back on. He can mend himself with time, he’s sure, but it will always be a cheap imitation of who he used to be, who he could have been in a perfect world, like a Chinese vase with obvious glue tracks and a big shard missing.

Pretty, but broken.

Mended, but not quite.

Never truly returned to its former glory. A shadow, a pale imitation of who he could have been.

And it’s like something heavy is sitting on his chest, pressing down on his lungs; it’s like his throat is closing up, like someone has clasped their hands around it and is just squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. _Squeezing_. Louis can’t breathe. He can’t _breathe_.

He briefly wonders if this is what it’s like, getting a panic attack, a heart attack, shit, Louis feels like he’s dying. Could be dying. _Fuck_. He feels like he should be gasping, desperately gasping for air. His insides burn, his entire body feels so weird, and-- 

_He. Can’t. Breathe._

“ _Louis_.” Zayn’s voice cuts through the haze of Louis’ mind, sharp like a dagger, the other boy cradling Louis’ head in his hands as Louis finally locks eyes with him. “Lou, _breathe_.”

He gasps. He gasps and air flows into his lungs, filling them until he feels somewhat human. It’s kind of like the first rays of sun after a long winter. He’s breathing, he’s breathing just fine, and had he been a little more lucid, he’d probably have seen Zayn’s relieved face.

“Louis,” Zayn says again, and Louis tilts his head to look at him, tears still making their way down his cheeks, and he has no control, no control over it at all. Wouldn’t be able to stop them even if he had the mental capacity to contemplate it.

“I’m in love with Harry.” He whispers, so quiet that he’s sure Zayn nearly misses it. It’s strange, saying the words out loud. So strange, but he has simultaneously never been this sure of anything in his entire life. He’s so, so in love with Harry… and what the hell has these past five months even been? Does Harry know, does he know that they’ve pretty much been an actual couple? Did he know all along? Is that what this is about? Is it because he finally got sick of it, got sick of the way Louis managed to twist them into something he never agreed to be? Fuck, it’s so confusing, Louis is so confused, and he’s just… He’s so in love with Harry, and it’s kind of difficult to fit anything else into his head, the revelation filling it up, taking up every bit of space available.

How’s he supposed to go on now? How’s he supposed to spend all his time with Harry, so painfully aware of the fact that he’s in love with him? How is he supposed to look at Harry avoiding him every day, look at him and not even being able to speak to him?

God, he’s been so stupid these last few months, hasn’t he? Just been so, so blind. It seems so ridiculous now that he’s been so out of touch with his own feelings. It makes him question every single thing that has happened between them, makes him wonder what changes and what doesn’t. What moments suddenly take on a new meaning? All the things Harry has done for him… when did he realise? When did he realise how hopelessly Louis has fallen for him? When did it start going from being a fun shag for Harry to being ‘shit-my-best-mate-has-fallen-in-love-with-me’? Why didn’t he say something? Why not just a simple ‘Hey mate, not all that comfortable with your clearly not-so-platonic feelings for me’? No, no – just, it kind of hits Louis out of nowhere, there’s no way, no scenario, no alternate universe where this wouldn’t have ended up in ruin, no way this wouldn’t have resulted in absolute heartbreak. It is what it is.

Fuck, nothing Louis is thinking is making sense. He can’t think clearly at all.

 

Zayn stays. They don’t speak much after Louis’ confession, but Zayn stays. He packs Louis’ bag again, pushes him into the shower and gets him ready to go to the hotel they’re staying at for the next concert. Louis stays silent.

Zayn drives them, it’s a couple of hours drive, and Louis spends the entire time looking out the window, only moving to turn off the radio the second he hears the opening piano bars of their third single. No… just no.

He moves like he’s a zombie, still so, so caught up in his own mind, and he lets Zayn guide him to his hotel room, opening the door and letting Louis in. Louis kind of just wants to be alone, really. It’s afternoon, he suspects, and they have a concert in the evening, they must have missed soundcheck, Louis suddenly realises, but he doesn’t have it in him to give a fuck, counting on Zayn having sorted it out.

Zayn lingers in the doorway as Louis moves into the room with his bag. So he’s not coming, Louis is strangely relieved honestly.

He looks at Zayn expectantly, waiting for the other man to say whatever he’s clearly bursting to say.

“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Lou,” He finally mutters, looking at Louis with this this expression Louis can’t place. “I don’t understand why you see it like that. You can finally be happy now.” He stays for a few moments more, sort of looking like he’s expecting Louis to say something, but he wouldn’t know what to say, wouldn’t know where to start at all. Zayn leaves.

His parting words stay with Louis, because… Louis can finally be happy now? What even? Louis was happy enough before this happened, before his entire world came crashing down around his ears. Now? Yeah, not so much.

Unless…

Unless by ‘you’ Zayn didn’t mean ‘you’ as in Louis, but as in ‘Harry and Louis’, as in the two of them. As in the two of them could finally be happy together.

But that would mean… that would mean Harry felt the same. And the concept feels so foreign, so ridiculous, but… maybe?

At any rate, it’s just… well, it’s not like it can get any worse, is it? They’ve already hit rock bottom. Harry isn’t speaking to him, they aren’t interacting beyond their limited time on stage when they have to keep up appearances. Louis honestly can’t imagine any scenario that would be worse than what they’re currently living through. Not ever in the coming on seven years they’ve known each other, has it been this bad. Harry won’t even look at him, for God’s sake. It’s not that their relationship has hit a rough patch, they literally haven’t even _got_ a relationship anymore. It’s like he’s air to Harry. Every bit as insignificant as a stranger is to him. So why _not_? Why not just be honest? If nothing else it’ll be a weight off his chest.

And Louis, fucking hell, in all honesty Louis isn’t even sure what he did. Christ, this is all so, so fucked up.

So what does he really have to lose when push comes to shove? Nothing. Literally nothing. Zilch, zero. So he might as well, right?

Maybe, if there’s just the tiniest chance that everything will work out in his favour… even if it seems the most unlikely scenario, but… _maybe_. Just maybe.

And, before all this happened, before everything went to hell, Louis hadn’t told Harry that he loved him for almost a month, not even in a text or a snapchat. That’s not normal for them. It’s the longest he’s ever gone without saying the words since the first time he told him all those years ago. The thing is, he realises now, even then he wasn’t sure how he’d mean them if he told him. Everything has gotten so _big_ and _important_ and _complicated_ , so hard to sort out. The line between best friends and something more and _the fucking love of his life_ having been blurred beyond recognition.

They’re not blurred any more. Not even close. The lines drawn into the sand so clearly they could be spotted from the fucking moon. Love of his life. Love of every single one of his lives, if he actually believed in reincarnation. There’s no one but Harry, Louis sees that, he knows that, feels it deep in his heart without a shadow of doubt, but--

Harry hasn’t said it either.

He picks up his phone to check what time it is. Zayn had made him turn it on and call his mother after Louis got out of the shower, but he hasn’t looked at it since. First thing he sees is that Harry has tweeted something an hour ago. Right. Louis has never been good at curbing his curiosity, so he quickly swipes his thumb across the screen to check what Harry wrote, and—

[ ](http://imgur.com/cvSERhR)

Fuck. What the actual fuck? Shit, Louis doesn’t even know where to put his attention, because the tweet, fuck, the tweet—like, what does that even mean? Is that—no, Louis is so fucking confused, what is Harry doing? Wait. It’s—is that a Script lyric? Shit. From _Breakeven_ , what the _fuck_. Louis knows that song, Louis loves that song, it’s-- it’s a break-up song if there ever was one, but they’re not—it’s not—

What is Harry _doing_?

There are already so many rumours about them breaking up, because Louis knows the fans, and the media, and everyone can see they’ve been off ever since the meeting. And The Script, fuck, _Harry_. No one’s going to doubt that he’s indirecting Louis here, and why is he? Sod it all, Louis doesn’t understand anything anymore.

Because maybe Harry does want more. Maybe. But why the fuck he's acting this way, Louis doesn’t understand; it doesn’t make any _sense_.

And then his new profile picture. No, no, no, _no_.

It might say Harry Tomlinson, but he’s cropped out Louis and his ‘Louis Styles’ jersey from the original pic. And. _Fuck_ , he could have chosen so many pictures, they’ve got so many cute and couple-y pictures of the two of them, but he chose this one. One without Louis. One where he actually took the time to cut out Louis. It shouldn’t be a big deal, shouldn’t be significant, but to Louis, right now, it feels like it means everything. Like Harry is sending him a message. Or sending someone a message.

Who the fuck ever knows what’s going through Harry Styles’ brain?

Fact is that this picture is just enough to appease the fans, while still sending the message clearly across that everything is so fucking fucked up.

Louis needs to fix this. Whatever end it will meet, it needs to be _fixed_.

And, fuck, the lyrics should mean more to him, should punch a bigger hole in his gut, it really, really should. It’s The Script, for fucks sake. It’s a song that contains lyrics like _‘What am I gonna to do when the best part of me was always you’_ and _‘What am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're ok’_ (Louis is so, so not okay), but he can’t think further than _Harry Tomlinson, Harry Tomlinson, Harry Tomlinson,_ because fuck does he want that someday.

He types in a tweet of his own, before he’s barely even registered pushing the buttons, and the next thing he knows, he’s thrown his phone recklessly at the bed, unsure if it even landed there or if it has now taken residence on the floor. Then he’s out the door, the tweet still open on his screen, no doubt. A reply to Harry’s picture, even if no one will ever understand, even if everyone will misinterpret it. 

[ ](http://imgur.com/zCJ4drH)

He tears down the hall of the hotel, almost running straight into Paul, and only slows down for the few seconds it takes to get a room number out of him. He finds the door he needs quickly, and bangs on it impatiently until the door is opened by the disgruntled boy whose hair is sticking out in odd angles, clearly having just been asleep. Under normal circumstances Louis would be more apologetic over messing with someone’s nap, but this time he’s really got no time for compassion or any of that kind of shit. He’s a man on a mission.

He takes a deep breath before talking, heart beating a mile a minute, threatening to beat out of his chest.

“Niall, I need your help.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you've got the time, or have anything to say, or even if you don't, please leave a comment - it means so, so much to me!
> 
> If you need more And Then a Bit, check out the [character asks](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/tagged/atab-character-asks), or send some of your own if there's something you're curious about.
> 
> It'd also mean a lot if you'd reblog the [masterpost](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/post/89354358410/infinitelymint-and-then-a-bit-pairing) for the fic. Or just come say hi on [tumblr](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I'm currently writing the next (last actual) chapter, so I can't guarantee it'll be up on Friday, it depends on how quickly I can get it done, and my betas need some time to look it over too, but I'll do my very best! Thanks for reading xx  
> 


	12. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I can't believe I'm doing this, but this is the last chapter, so of course thanks must be given:
> 
> To [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com) \- for being sweet, and kind, and British. And amazing. Thank you for your time, and your superiour English skills.
> 
> To [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com) \- for powering through even though life is busy. For always coming through, and for making the fic so, so much better. For dealing with my terrible grammar. For being kind, and lovely, and an absolute sweetheart.
> 
> To [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com) \- for being the reason this is even a thing. Without you this would still only be 14.000 words half forgotten in my project folder. Thank you for continuos support, for being the very, very best, for giving me much more encouragement and love than I deserve. And for your manips, because you are a QUEEN. This is for you.
> 
> To all you lovely, lovely people who've read this, to the ones who've stuck with me from the beginning and the ones who came as the story progressed, and to those who will hopefully read now that it's finished - thank you so, so much. you have no idea how much the fact that you're reading has meant to you. I'll never be able to express in words how grateful I am for all the kudos, comments and kind messages on tumblr. Just thank you so, so much.
> 
> And a massive happy birthday to Dina, this is a bit late, but I hope you'll enjoy.
> 
> Credit to the manips goes to [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com), and for Harry's twitter profile pic the credit goes to [Nic](http://tommosloueh.tumblr.com). Thank you.
> 
> Happy reading - epilogue will follow as soon as it's done. xx

_Så tro på det kan stå selv - helt uden forsvar_  
 _Tro på det kan holde - det er så fedt det vi har_  
 _Når jeg ser det hele - højt oppe - ovenfra_  
 _Er vi to helt vildt rigtige - jeg ved det bare_

(Marie Key – ”Uden Forsvar”)

**CHAPTER XI:**

Honestly. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been this nervous before a concert before. Not ever. Not the first time, not the biggest crowd, just never. They’re all backstage now, getting ready for the show, and Harry’s there, is right there, so close – Louis hasn’t been so close to him for days and, frankly, he looks terrible, looks every bit as terrible as he did in those pap pictures from his arrival at LAX, and it twists in Louis gut, because fuck, he doesn’t want Harry to look terrible. Doesn’t want him to look like someone killed his pet, especially doesn’t want him looking like that when chances are that Louis is the reason he does. Somehow, no matter what it takes, Louis is going to fix this. Whatever end it gets, whatever means it takes, he’s going to find a way to make Harry happy again, even if he has to move himself to Timbuktu. Yes, having a purpose is _great._

Harry hasn’t acknowledged him at all, not that Louis was really expecting him to, what with him doing everything in his power to not have to spend time with Louis these past few days. It’s one of the main reasons he quite thinks he might be about to make the stupidest move of his entire life, but… well, no pain, no gain, isn’t that what they say? Not that this is really ‘no pain, no gain’, or… well, it is, but more like in a ‘no risking your heart and massive humiliation, no gain - and even then no guarantee of gain, this might well blow up in your face and turn out to be the worst decision you have ever made in all of your twenty five years of living’ kind of way.

Christ. Louis isn’t even sure he’s going to make it to make it through this sane. The thing is, this is kind of it, isn’t it? Either this works and that’ll be the best fucking thing in the world, or it doesn’t, and that might actually mean the end of seven years of friendship; of seven years with Harry as the most important part of his life. Well, actually, not really that, he doesn’t think there’s anything that could take that title away from Harry, thinks he’ll probably always be the most important part of Louis’ life, but it’ll definitely be the end of him being anything to Harry.

He doesn’t know how they’d be able to salvage anything if this doesn’t work, doesn’t even think Harry would want to. Like, Louis might be able to write it off as a charade kind of thing, as something done because everybody thinks they’re breaking up, so why not, but… well, he isn’t sure Harry would even buy it, is pretty sure that no matter what, he’s going to give away the fact that he’s madly in love with his best friend, the ‘wanna spend every single moment from now until the end of the world with you’ kind of in love, and he finds that he kind of doesn’t mind. It would be pretty mortifying to have Harry know that he’s just so, so gone for him, but he finds that now that he’s finally admitted it to himself, has finally come clean, well, he doesn’t think he could really hide it, even if he wanted to. He’s so, so sick of secrets and just not being honest with each other, and no matter how Harry feels, if they ever want any chance to rebuild some sort of relationship, it’s probably about time they just come clean about everything.

Now, there are probably better ways of going about this, but… well. Go big or go home, really. Plus, the other boys had been all for the idea, so Louis is sort of counting on the fact that they’d have stopped him if he was about to make the biggest, most humiliating mistake of his life. Right. Doesn’t mean he’s not nervous though, doesn’t mean he isn’t fucking terrified, doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like throwing up and bolting from the room.

He must be giving off a ‘don’t come near me’ kind of vibe, because they’re all leaving him alone, and he’s really kind of grateful for it, isn’t sure if words or vomit would leave his mouth if someone were to ask him a question, and right now he’s really questioning his own sanity. He’s sitting on a sofa, thankfully ready to get on stage, appearance wise, head in his hands as he’s going through his plan obsessively, absolutely determined not to fuck it up. That’d be awful, just awful, and definitely best avoided.

His heart is beating so hard, so fast, that he feels like surely it must be leaving behind a bruise on his chest. He kind of wants to bolt, to just run, run, _run_ until his legs give away under him, until he comes tumbling to the ground, hopefully a really fucking long way from here. God, what was he ever thinking, coming up with this plan? Like, really, he wasn’t even thinking, was he? He’s never made a decision so fast, barely contemplated it for even a few seconds before coming to knock on Niall’s door, begging him for his help.

He doesn’t know what he’d have done without Niall. Fucking fantastic Niall, who dropped everything he had in his arms to help Louis, who informed Liam and Zayn, and everyone else who’d need to know, so that Louis wouldn’t have to deal with that on top of what he was already doing, who just understood that Louis was fucking terrified and needed all the time in the world to keep himself from spontaneously combusting with repressed emotions and nerves.

The thing is, it feels a bit like he’s letting a vampire kiss his neck, trusting them not to bite while they’re at it. It’s like he’s giving Harry his heart, with a nice little bow on top of it and a card saying ‘please don’t break me’, while simultaneously handing him a hammer.

He’s trusting Harry, trusting him not to hurt him, and while he knows that Harry never would deliberately, no matter how much he despises Louis, because he’s still the best fucking person on earth, this time it might just might be out of his hands, might not be his choice at all.

 

Before he knows it, time having moved much, much too fast, Paul is announcing that it’s time for them to line up, to get on stage, to play the gig that’s going to alter the course of Louis’ life permanently, no matter what. He looks up from his hands, where his head has been resting, elbows digging into his thighs, and meets Harry’s eyes for all of two seconds. The younger man was looking at him, could have been looking at him for actual ages, for all Louis knows, and with this frown on his face, this sort of contemplative and… and _worried_ look, like he was actually concerned about Louis. That doesn’t make sense, but all Louis knows is that they caught each other’s eyes, and Harry is looking better, Lou having done a miracle job on him, and he was looking at Louis, looking at him before Louis himself looked up, and he didn’t stop, didn’t immediately look away when they made eye contact, kept looking for just a few seconds. Then he looked away, looked away and got up, grabbed his mic and got ready to go on stage, and Louis doesn’t know what to make of anything, except for the fact that he needs to get on stage and he needs to try. He needs to try, if nothing else he needs to be able to say that he did _everything_ in his power to sort it all out.

So this time, when they run on stage, it’s different, so different from last time, because this time Louis has a _plan_. It might be a shit one and it might end horribly, but he’s going to try; he’s going to give it his best and if he’s lucky it’ll work out in his favour, and if not… well, that’s something he’ll have to deal with then.

He makes it through _Little Black Dress_ , walking next to Harry down the catwalk, makes it through _Strong_ , makes it through so many songs, and Harry isn’t really acknowledging him, but it’s okay because Louis is nervous enough as it is. There’s only twitter questions left until it all goes down, and, well, to say that Louis is scared shitless would be an understatement. He doesn’t pay much attention through the first two, giving half hearted, automatic answers, and the circumstances considered, he thinks he can be excused. He’s pulled back to the present though when Zayn reads the last question aloud, a simple clearing of his throat and then, “Oh, this is an easy one, lads. Which is your favourite football team? Niall?”

Niall takes a moment to answer, pretending to be thinking hard. “Derby, mate,” he says eventually, “Really no competition, I’m afraid.”

“’Course,” Zayn chuckles, turning slightly, angling his body towards Harry. “Harry?”

Manchester United, Louis thinks, because everyone and their second cousin twice removed knows that Harry’s favourite team is United, and why people continue to ask questions they already know the answers to, Louis will never unders—

“Doncaster Rovers,” Harry says, startling just about everyone, very much including Louis. Because, just… _what?_ “Yeah, uh, my favourite football team is Doncaster Rovers. I mean, like, United is a close second, but the Rovers has become quite special to me.”

“Special place in your heart?” Liam teases, and Louis is still too stunned to actually comprehend what’s going on around him.

“Yeah,” he hears Harry soft reply. “Exactly that, yeah.”

And, well, what is Louis supposed to make of that? Is that… is Harry trying to make peace? To figure something out? Is it just to keep up pretences? Because it’s not exactly like he’s bothered to do anything about that over these past few days. Is this Harry’s version of an olive branch?

He looks up at him, but Harry’s still got his back to him, leaving Louis no opportunity to analyse his facial expression.

“Good choice,” he gets out miraculously, voice uncharacteristically soft and fond. Or, well, not really all that uncharacteristically considering that he’s talking to Harry. “Think I might have to agree with Harold on this one, personally.”

“’Course you do,” Liam chuckles, shaking his head slightly and hip checking him with a small smile playing on his lips. He’s suddenly reminded that all the boys know what’s about to happen, and… oh, God.

He sort of tunes out the rest of their answers, so, so nervous that he doesn’t think he could focus even if his entire career was riding on it. As Niall moves to introduce the next song, Louis moves towards his piano, sitting down on the bench to run his fingers over the keys, trying to calm his nerves.

This is going to make or break everything between himself and Harry, and that’s… that’s fucking terrifying. What if he’s misinterpreted everything? Shit. But, no, the boys wouldn’t have been so enthusiastic about his idea if they knew he was setting himself up for heartbreak, right? They’d have said something, would have stopped him. Right? They definitely wouldn’t have spent hours leading up to their performance on practising the changes with him, Niall wouldn’t have agreed so easily, just… no.

He puts his fingers to the keys, and just like that they’re off, the opening notes to _Little Things_ coming softly from his piano. As soon as he puts his fingers to the keys and starts to play, it’s almost like he’s transported to some strange zen-like state where he’s just inexplicably calm, the nerves from earlier gone and forgotten. Well, sort of. But suddenly he can focus on nothing apart from letting his fingers drift over the keys as Zayn starts the first verse, can focus on nothing but this song, on what’s happening right now, on what’s about to happen, and he’s calm, just settled in the knowledge of what’s about to happen. He’s about to be honest, so, so honest – more honest with himself, and the world, and Harry than he has probably ever been. It’s strangely liberating.

The first part of the song is as normal, nothing out of the ordinary, and Louis kind of thinks that maybe he should be getting more and more nervous as it approaches, but strangely it’s only like he gets calmer. He loves Harry, is so, so in love with Harry, wants to spend the rest of his life with him, and he’s ready for Harry to know, is ready for the whole world to know, doesn’t ever want to keep something like that a secret.

It’s with the start of the second verse, of Louis’ verse, that things take a different turn. Louis stays silent, just completely silent, plays the music like he has to, but doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t utter even a syllable, exactly like they’ve rehearsed.

Niall does instead.

He watches Harry, can’t help but look at the other man as the words meant to come from Louis leave Niall’s mouth instead.

“You can't go to bed,  
Without a cup of tea,  
And maybe that's the reason,  
That you talk in your sleep,  
And all those conversations,  
Are the secrets that I keep,  
Though it makes no sense to me”

Niall sings it flawlessly, but it sounds odd coming from him and not Louis, even after having rehearsed through it countless times only a few hours ago. As soon as Niall’s let out the first word, Harry whips his head around to look at Louis, naturally as confused as everyone in the crowd. His eyes lock with Louis’, and Louis smiles at him softly, tries to communicate everything he can’t say with words in that one look, tries to reassure him that it’s okay, that nothing’s wrong, that it’s all under control. He doesn’t quite know if he succeeds, but Harry seems placated at least that Niall isn’t taking over for Louis because he’s run for the hills or something. Which is good, he supposes.

He breaks their eye contact when he turns away from Louis to sing his part, and Louis doesn’t let himself mourn the loss of what’s probably the most direct contact the two of them have had since the conversation (if you can even call it that) in the hallway after the meeting with Modest!. He doesn’t let himself mourn it, because he’s finally really allowing himself to hope for a hell of a lot of contact as soon as this concert is over, is letting himself hope that he interpreted everything correctly, that maybe Harry is every bit as gone for him as he is for Harry.

Louis has never been this impatient with a song in his entire bloody life, the suspense is literally killing him, and he wants to just fast forward through the stupid chorus, yet at the same time he’s really, _really_ not ready, needs a pause button or something, needs to stop, slow down, take a deep breath and get ready.

It’s time. It’s time and it’s now, it’s going to change everything, and Louis’ heart is beating a million times a minute, which surely cannot be healthy, but he’s really got other things to worry about. So.

So he sings.

“You'll never love yourself,  
Half as much as I love you,  
You'll never treat yourself right, darlin',  
But I want you to,  
If I let you know I'm here for you,  
Maybe you'll love yourself,  
Like I love you,  
Oh”

The very moment Louis utters the first syllable of Niall’s part, Harry whips around to look at him again, so fast Louis almost worries it gave him whiplash.  He looks at Louis, eyes big and surprised, and Louis sings. He looks back at Harry, looks straight at him, because he’s singing to him, he’s singing to Harry and he needs him to know without a shadow of doubt that it’s him, that it’s him Louis wants, him Louis loves. Because it is. Just so, so much.

When he gets to the end of it, it’s so glaringly obvious that Harry is too stunned to do anything, least of all sing, so Louis can’t help but quirk his lips up, a tiny private smile meant just for him as he continues to sing Harry’s part.

“And I've just let these little things,  
Slip out of my mouth,”

He doesn’t get further before Harry seems to finally perk up, and he joins in, eyes locked with Louis’ with the kind of intensity that eliminates the rest of the world around them, that makes it seem as though it’s just the two of them here and not an arena filled with thousands of people.

They sing together, their voices blending in perfect harmony, and Louis knows, somehow, distantly, that there are so, so many screaming fans in the crowd, so many people bearing witness to this, but his entire world is Harry. Just Harry.  
  
“'Cause it's you,  
oh it's you,  
It's you,  
They add up to”

Louis stops singing, confident that Harry can sing the rest of his verse now, and also that he’s gotten his point across. Harry finishes singing the last two lines alone, eyes still locked with Louis’, and he feels the hope blossom even more, feels it fill his entire being, glide through his veins like liquid gold. Harry’s smiling at him, grin big and sincere. He’s smiling at Louis, looking straight at him, eyes locked, and he’s singing; singing words Louis had hardly dared to dream of hearing even in his wildest imagination. And it’s not the same as having Harry tell him to his face, but when Harry looks at him like he is now, it’s pretty damn close. Louis will take it for now.

“And I'm in love with you,  
And all your little things,”

 

Somehow the concert moves on, and it feels like a giant stone has been lifted off Louis’ shoulders, like he can finally breathe easily again. There’s still so much they need to talk about, so much, but he feels lighter than he has in days. If he’s not misinterpreting everything, Harry wants him too. Loves him too, and it’s the most brilliant feeling Louis has ever felt. It’s like they’re neutrons and protons, making more sense together than apart, having more purpose together, becoming something big, and vital, and fucking irreplaceable together, and maybe this metaphor is all messed up but sue him, because his brain is all scrambled and he never actually managed to pass physics. _So_.

He makes it through a handful of songs almost in a trance, smiling like a loon as he sings his parts with passion, constantly stealing glances at Harry to find him already watching him, grin mirrored on his face.

There’s still the tiniest, miniscule doubt inside of him, this part that finds it so, so difficult to believe that Harry could possibly love him back, so there aren’t words enough in the English vocabulary to describe the amount of relief he feels when he finishes his solo in Something Great to find Harry kneeling in front of him. He doesn’t immediately draw Louis in for a kiss though, not like all the other times, and for a few seconds they just look into each other’s eyes. Harry seems to be searching for something, and Louis is powerless to do anything but look back at him. He just hopes that Harry will find what he seeks in his gaze. It’s only a short moment later, though it feels like an eternity to Louis, that Harry runs his nose along his cheek until he’s breathing hotly against his ear.

“Please tell me this means what I think it means.” His voice is just loud enough for Louis to hear over the roaring crowd, and he knows that they’re holding up the concert, knows that there are so, so many people watching them, knows that they should get a move on, knows they should wait to talk this through until they’re alone in their hotel room.

He pulls Harry’s face away from his gently, cradling it in his hands. He looks into his eyes, trying with every fibre of his being to convey how much he means the words he’s about to utter. He leans in, rests his forehead briefly against Harry’s, before moving to press his lips against his ear.

“I love you.” He whispers, words meant only for Harry’s ears, and he hears them, Louis knows, because his hands move to grasp his wrists, wrapping around them easily, like every body part of Harry’s was made to fit Louis’, and holds tight. He pauses for a moment and then adds, because it’s an important distinction, “I’m _in_ love with you. I’m so, so in love with you.”

Next thing he knows he’s got Harry’s lips pressed against his own, a bruising sort of quality to it, and it’s the best fucking thing Louis has ever felt.

He thinks it might mean ‘I love you too.’

 

Louis doesn’t know how he is supposed to make it through the rest of the concert when it feels like he’s being physically pulled to Harry all the time, like his fingers are itching from the need to touch him, to hold him, to have him. There’s still so much time left, so much time, and Harry’s there, he’s right there, but Louis can’t grab him, can’t whisk him away like he want to. And it’s just torture, orbiting around him, fingers brushing, smiles aimed, kisses blown, but it’s not enough; it’s not enough because right now Louis needs him, needs him so much, and he still has to share him with thousands upon thousands of people in the audience.

“I’m gonna go for a quick wee, lads,” he announces quickly when the next break between songs comes, needing desperately to have three seconds to collect his thoughts, if there’s to be any hope of him completing the concert without showing off some inhuman abilities and throwing Harry over his shoulder before flying out of the arena or something equally impossible.

He leans his head against the wall as soon as he’s off the stage, thankful that there aren’t any of their crew around right now, and breathes in deeply, trying to sort out and calm down the thousands of different emotions swirling around in his body. He startles when he’s ripped out of his thoughts by a pair of familiar arms sneaking around his waist, pulling him close against a broad chest.

He sags into it, moves his own hand to intertwine with one of Harry’s resting on his stomach. “You okay?” Harry breathes into his ear, tightening his grip on his hand.

Louis nods, and he knows Harry must feel the motion against his shoulder. Louis is okay. Louis is good, is great, is fantastic. Is so fucking overwhelmed. _God_.

He turns around in Harry’s arms so that they’re face to face, and Harry’s hands come to rest on his hips, Louis’ own hands splayed out over Harry’s firm pecs, forehead resting against his shoulder.

“There’s so much I need to tell you,” Harry says finally after what seems like years of silence, but is hopefully only a few seconds, seeing as they’ve got a concert going on and they’re being wildly unprofessional right now. He lifts his head, meeting Harry’s eyes as they’re boring down into his. “So much you don’t know.”

And it should probably set off all sorts of alarms in Louis head; is Harry about to announce that he actually has four wives and seventeen children spread all over the world, did he elope with someone else when he was in LA, did he record a sex tape of the two of them and sell it to Sugarscape? He finds that he doesn’t care though, as long as Harry actually wants him back, he doesn’t think there’s anything Harry could say that could ruin this for him.

“Me too,” he says instead, because it’s the truth, because there are so many things he needs to explain to Harry too. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.”

Harry nods, hesitates only for a second, like he’s afraid he might not actually be allowed to, before bending down slightly and placing a chaste kiss on Louis’ lips. “I didn’t get to say it out there, Louis, but I love you too. I love you so, so bloody much.”

And it’s a little bit like hearing angels sing, or winning the game of life, or—or something equally amazing.  It’s unbelievable, and all consuming, and so empowering that Louis quite expects he might actually be able to really fly if he gave it a bit of effort. Hearing Harry say those words, hearing them and knowing that it’s not in a laddy-dude-bro-pal kind of way, but that it’s in the spend-our-life-together-for-the-rest-of-forever kind of way is probably the best thing Louis has ever experienced. He’s so lucky, just so, so lucky. He doesn’t know how he could ever have gotten this lucky, he must have been a fucking saint in some former life or something. Christ.

He doesn’t think he could form actual words even if his life depended on it, feeling so, so overwhelmed, emotions filling his entire being like they’re threatening to spill from his body any second. And it’s not that he didn’t know, because Harry’s reaction on stage had sort of given away that Louis wasn’t exactly alone in the love department (and thank fucking god for that!), but hearing the words, hearing those three little words actually coming from Harry’s mouth---

There are no words. _No words._

There are no words that could ever describe how Louis is feeling right now. Better than getting three ‘yes’es’ on his audition, better than being put in One Direction, better than making it to the final of the X Factor, better than getting a record deal, a number one album, a fucking stadium tour, better than all of those things _combined._ Because Harry loves him too, is in love with him too, possibly wants to spend the rest of his life with him too, though that one’s probably something they ought to cover in the very long conversation they’ll no doubt be having.

Devoid of words, Louis pulls Harry’s face to his, sealing their lips together and trying to convey all that he can’t find the words for with his lips.

 

As soon as the concert is over they’re out of the venue, and in a car on their way to the hotel, neither of them fancying staying around to answer questions from the other lads before they even have time to talk about it the two of them. They’re silent as they sit next to each other in the car, thighs pressed closed and fingers intertwined. It’s not for the lack of something to say, Louis thinks, it’s probably more because there’s too much to say. He doesn’t know where to start or what to say, doesn’t know where to go from here except that he wants to go there with Harry. Always with Harry, wants Harry right there next to him for the rest of his life preferably.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, just as the car pulls up next to the entrance to the hotel. He’s not even sure what he’s apologising for if he’s honest, but he has this inexplicable need to express just how sorry he is for any and all hurt he might have caused Harry.

Harry twists slightly in his seat so that he’s facing Louis, the car having come to a complete stop now. “I’m sorry too, babe,” he says, raising his hands to run a thumb down Louis’ cheek. “I wasn’t fair to you either, and. There’s—there’s so much we need to talk about, just…” he pauses, expression almost pained as he leans forward and connects their lips, kissing Louis once, hard. “ _I love you,_ ” he says, voice fierce and eyes burning. “I love you,” softer this time, “and you love me, yeah? That’s what’s most important. We’ll work all the rest of it out together.”

Louis nods and leans forward, connecting their lips again, softer this time. “I do, sunshine. I love you so much.”

Harry nods and leans in, rests his forehead against Louis’ shoulder, letting out a sigh when Louis takes his hand to card through his soft curls where they’re peeking out from the headscarf.

“Ready to go inside?” He murmurs, pressing his lips into Harry’s hair. “There’re bound to be fans outside now, should probably put on our game face.”

Harry stiffens slightly, almost unnoticeably, probably wouldn’t be something he would catch, if he wasn’t so attuned to the younger man’s body. He shakes his head and leans in, placing a kiss on Harry’s temple. “Not what I meant, baby. This is all real, all of it. I just meant, like, our ‘let go meet fans’ face.”

Harry nods, lets out a long breath and moves to unbuckle his seatbelt. “I’m sorry,” he says, turning to Louis again, who’s done the same. “I don’t mean to be so sensitive, I just—“

Louis shakes his head, cutting him off. “Don’t worry about it, love. Let’s go in before we talk all of this through, yeah?”

Harry nods, and Louis squeezes his hand one last time, before moving to get out of the car, pausing outside it and waiting for Harry to exit as well, grabbing his hand when they’ve closed the car door. There are plenty of fans stationed outside the hotel, and Louis smiles and waves at them, as he makes his way to the hotel entrance with Harry.

They take the lift up to the floor they’ve rented, and as they step out Louis makes to turn towards his room, expecting Harry to follow, when the younger man pulls at their intertwined hands, effectively stopping Louis mid-stride. He turns to face him fully, a questioning look upon his face, and he’s met with a sort of nervous looking Harry.

“Can we get my stuff first?” he asks, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and pressing down enough for the flesh to turn white. For several moments Louis doesn’t understand, until he realises that Harry’s referring to the single room he must have gotten Paul to book for him. Because he wasn’t expecting to sleep with Louis, to interact with Louis at all. Right. How easy it is to forget how shitty everything was only a few hours ago. “I mean, like... if you don’t mind me staying with you, and all…” He trails off and the lip is back between his teeth in record time.

Louis lifts his hand to gently tug his abused lip away from his teeth with a soft smile. “’Course we can, lovely. Don’t be silly, I want nothing more than to share our room again. These past days have been a bit shit without you.”

Harry nods, slotting himself against Louis’ side, hand curling around his hip. “For me too.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, in lieu of something better to say, because what really is there to say? He’s seen how Harry looked when he got to LAX, saw how he looked today before Lou did her magic on him, but on the other hand he was still perfectly alright to go out and eat with people, and… it’s not that he doesn’t know he’s being a shit for even worrying about it, for even thinking about it, but there’s so much they still haven’t talked about, and Louis just… he just doesn’t know. Doesn’t know anything, not what to believe, not what to think, nothing. He knows that Harry loves him now, doesn’t doubt it, but that doesn’t mean—

“Hey,” Harry says, tugging gently at his arm as they walk down the corridor towards his room, their fingers still linked. “Hey, you’re all frown-y, what’s the matter?”

Louis shakes his head, forcing a small smile on his face as he tries to just rid himself of those stupid thoughts. “Nothing.” He says, giving Harry’s hand a brief squeeze. “Nothing, don’t worry. It’s stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Harry argues, which is kind of ridiculous, considering the fact that he doesn’t know what Louis is even thinking about. “Couldn’t be stupid, love.” He stops in the middle of the corridor, stalling Louis too through their linked hands. “Clearly it bothers you, tell me what it is.”

“It’s not rational, Haz,” he sighs, resigning himself to telling Harry about how ridiculous he is. “Like, I know it’s stupid, and unfair and all, but I just… you fucked off to LA, Harry. You didn’t even tell me, you didn’t answer my text, I didn’t know where you fucking were, and the next thing I know there are articles everywhere about you and another man, and I know that you’re just friends probably, and that I don’t have any say in it anyway because we weren’t actually together, and—“

“But we kind of were.” Harry interrupts him, and well yeah, they really kind of were. “And that’s a big part of why I reacted like I did, and we should talk about this, baby, we have to talk about this, but maybe not right here. Later. But, Louis, love, there’s no ‘probably’ in the just friends. He’s just a friend. A good friend, yeah, but just a friend. I’m not interested in anyone but you, would honestly probably need a fucking lifetime to get over you.”

He lets out a heavy breath following Harry’s words, wordlessly stepping closer and burying himself in his embrace, winding his arms around his waist as he feels Harry move to hold him close as well. “Don’t want you to ever have to get over me,” he chooses to mumble into Harry’s collarbone a few moments later, resting his lips there in a lingering kiss.

Harry holds him closer, and it’s the only answer Louis will ever really need.

 

 

They gather Harry’s things from his room quickly, and Louis derives a sick sort of pleasure from letting the door slam shut to the empty room, fully intent on never letting Harry get his own room again.

He barely allows Harry to drop his bags next to his before he’s crowding him up against a wall, pressing his body close to his, and he knows they ought to talk, ought to sort it all out before just falling into bed, but just… he’s just missed Harry, just missed him so fucking much. Missed being close to him, and his touch, and his everything, and honestly it’s not like their ability to speak is going anywhere, they can still talk tomorrow. Right.

He’s got both hands resting on Harry’s shoulders, and the younger man has let his body slide down the wall slightly, putting them exactly eye to eye. He’s watching Louis with big, trusting eyes, like he’s just waiting to see what Louis next move will be, like he’ll allow him to do anything, anything at all. Like no matter what Louis asked for, Harry would give it to him.

He slides his hands down slightly to fist them in the fabric of his white tank top. “I,” he says, pronouncing each word clearly, “Have missed you. So much.” He moves closer to kiss him chastely once, and then repeats. “So much.”

Harry’s hands move to grasp his hips, pulling him impossibly closer, murmuring an earnest, “God, I missed you too,” before sealing their lips together once again, this time wasting no time on chaste or proper, but going straight to downright indecent. Hot. Fucking mind numbingly good. The best, really, always the fucking best with Harry.

He takes a step backwards, pulling Harry with him through the hold he’s got of his tank top, all the while keeping their mouths connected. It feels like coming home, kissing Harry again. Like coming home and finding one’s rightful place on Earth, and winning life, really. It’s the best feeling, the absolute best, the way his lips mould against Louis’, the way their lips fit together seamlessly, the way their tongues glide against each other, wet and perfect. And it’s better, so, so much better than it has ever been before, because now it’s with the knowledge that, _fuck_ , they’re in love with each other. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy in his life, finds that he can’t hold back a smile, the corner of his lips curving up as they fall back against the bed, Harry on top of him.

“What are you smiling about?” Harry asks, smile widening just from looking at him. They scuttle back slightly until he's lying back against the pillows and Harry is straddling his lap.

“You just make me happy.” He answers honestly, hand coming up to take a hold of the hem of Harry’s tank top, moving to pull it off him.

Harry’s grin widens to impossible proportions as he pulls the top off all the way, leaving him shirtless on top of Louis. It’d be a lie to say that he’d forgotten how fucking gorgeous Harry is, but it's something else being confronted with it directly again.

“So fucking fit,” he can’t help but let out as he runs his hands up Harry’s toned upper body, stopping at his nipples to run his thumbs over them, before pinching them in the way he knows drives Harry mad. 

“Lou,” he breathes, throwing back his head and arching his back as he lets out a soft moan, nipples hardening under Louis’ fingertips.

“Yes, dear?” Louis asks, smirk firmly etched onto his face and a smug tone colouring his voice. He finds great, great satisfaction in being able to elicit such reaction from Harry.

Harry grabs his wrists, stilling his actions. “Naked,” he rasps out, panting slightly already, “I want you naked, please. Please, baby, want to see you naked, can’t wait, I—“

Louis raises his hips as best he can, rubbing his denim clad, hardening cock against Harry’s. “Might wanna get off me then, babes,” he grins, twisting his hands around to free his wrists and intertwine his fingers with Harry’s. He pulls their joined hands to his face and kisses the back of each of Harry’s hands, the action intimate and uncharacteristically sweet for their current situation.

Harry bends down to connect their lips again before rolling off of him and the bed, and Louis nearly groans from the lack of contact. He predicts a future where being separated from Harry is going to be next to impossible, even now when he’s literally half a metre away, he still thinks it’s too much. Surely that’s not healthy, but he supposes they can be classified as being smack in the middle of their honeymoon phase, and considering what they’ve gone through to get here, how long they’ve waited to have this properly, and taking into account the conversation they’re going to have in the morning that will be neither short nor pleasant, Louis thinks they should be allowed to stay in the honeymoon phase for a really fucking long time. Forever, perhaps. You definitely won’t hear Louis complaining.

He sits up in the bed, ridding himself of his clothes and tossing them carelessly to the ground, watching Harry shamelessly as he does the same. He gets a hand on himself, pulling slowly, just enough to keep him from exploding as he watches Harry bend over his suitcase, pulling out something from the front pocket. Lube and condoms, Louis can see, as Harry turns back to him, making his way towards the bed, eyes trailing appreciatively down Louis’ body.

He crawls back into bed, looming over Louis with a small smile on his face, the lube and condoms still clutched in his hand. “Wanna feel you everywhere,” he breathes, holding his weight up with one hand as he uses the other to run down Louis’ side, coming to rest on his hip. “God, I never thought I could have this again. Shit. Lou—Lou, do you want to fuck me, or—“

Louis shakes his head, running his hands down Harry’s strong back. “Want you inside me,” he breathes, dick fully hard at the thought of Harry looming over him, covering his entire body with his own, filling him up until it’s almost too much to take.

Harry lets out a strangled sound, burying his head in the crook of Louis’ shoulder with a “Fuck yes”, before drawing back and kissing him once more. He fumbles slightly with the bottle of lube and the next thing Louis knows, he’s got Harry’s sticky finger between his cheeks, circling his hole briefly before pushing in.

The sensation just from one of Harry’s fingers is maddening, Louis’ back arching from pleasure without his consent. It’s only been six days or so since he last had Harry’s fingers inside of him, but it feels like an actual lifetime, and this, now, feeling Harry add another finger, and then another, moving them inside him, brushing over Louis’ prostate, it’s absolutely breath taking.

He's sucking marks into the points of Louis’ hips, mouth moving over his skin, wet and soft like velvet, sucking, licking, and biting until Louis feels like he can hardly stay in his own skin, so entirely overwhelmed by what he’s experiencing.

One hand already fisted in the sheets, a desperate attempt to ground himself, Louis moves the other to Harry’s hair, tangling his fingers with the soft curls. Harry lets out a sinful moan as he tugs slightly, his fingers pumping inside him still, stretching his tight hole, getting it ready to take him again.

When he seems to deem Louis ready he extracts his fingers, causing him to let out a whimper, mourning the loss of Harry inside him. Harry bends over him slightly, reaching for the condom he’d placed next to his head, but in a split decision Louis reaches out, catches his wrist and stops him.

“No,” he shakes his head as best he can, resting amongst an army of pillows. He looks deeply into Harry’s eyes, thumb drawing small circles over his wrist. “I wanna feel you, wanna feel all of you.”

Harry looks stunned at Louis’ words, like he had never even considered it a possibility. “Lou…” he gets out, sounding almost strangled.

“Only if you want to, of course,” Louis rushes out, not wanting to ever force him to do anything he doesn’t want to. “I just… fuck, Haz, I wanna feel you, want you to come inside of me, baby.”

“God,” Harry breathes out, tucking his head into the juncture between Louis’ shoulder and neck, breathing in deeply. “Fuck, Louis, I want that so much, but—“

“We had that full medical check-up right before tour, love, we’re both clean. I mean unless you’ve…” he trails off, unable to finish the sentence, because even if Harry did confirm that the man was just a friend, that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t had a one night stand with some random boy in a club or something, and—

“Fuck, no. Louis. I haven’t slept with anyone but you for like a year, don’t wanna sleep with anyone else ever again. It’s… with you, it’s… like, love, I haven’t had sex this good with anyone ever in my entire life, and even if you were a really shitty shag, which you’re _not_ , I would still prefer you because it’s _you_.”

Louis grins, oddly touched by his outburst. He decides that actions speak louder than words and reaches for the bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount into his palm and reaching down to grab Harry’s cock. He lets out a mix of a gasp and a moan as Louis’ hand wraps around him, pumping slowly and coating him in the cold lube. It’s a slightly awkward angle, Harry still lying on top of Louis, face tucked into his neck, and Louis is brushing his own dick with his knuckles every time he strokes him. It’s all he can do not to come right there. It’s been a long time, it’s been much, much too long since he felt Harry’s hands on his naked skin, since he felt his soft lips, his hard cock, the way his muscles ripple as he moves.

“Yeah?” Harry breathes, looking into Louis’ eyes intently, green vibrant and almost burning with intensity as he raises himself over him, holding up his weight with his arms, hands planted on either side of Louis’ head.

In lieu of an answer, Louis raises his legs, wrapping them around Harry’s hips and digging his heels into the soft flesh of his arse cheeks as he pushes Harry’s pelvis closer to his. “Yes.”

Harry grins, smile wide and unabashed, as he bends down to kiss Louis hard, seeming like he couldn’t actually stop himself.  “If you insist,” he murmurs against Louis’ lips, prompting a smile from him, before lining himself up with Louis’ entrance. “I haven’t…” he starts, before shrugging slightly, looking sheepish, waiting to push inside Louis for some godforsaken reason he will never understand. “I’ve never… you know, without, before.”

It tugs at Louis’ heart, the fact that he might not have been Harry’s first, but he’s Harry’s first something. And Harry is his. “Me neither. Never met anyone I wanted to with before.”

Harry looks at a loss for words, doesn’t seem to know what to say, so instead he takes a hold of his cock again and pushes inside Louis. It probably says more than he ever could with words anyhow, their bodies saying things that could never be uttered in sentences that made sense.

And it’s… indescribable really. Just… _wow_.

There is no word, no sentence, no collection of syllables or sounds that could ever string together into something that would be worthy of describing how it feels to have Harry push inside of him without the latex barrier of a condom between them. If the way Harry’s head is thrown back as he bottoms out, eyes squeezed together and mouth open, is any indication of how he feels, it’s pretty damn good for him too.

He stays still inside him, doesn’t move for what feels like half a century, gasping for small breaths of air.

“Harry…” Louis breathes out, voice wretched and overwhelmed, and they’ve barely started shagging, but there’s something about the thought of what they’re doing, of the fact that there's no barrier between them that is so, so intimate. They’re together in the most intimate way possible and that’s just… overwhelming. Just so overwhelming. 

“Christ, fuck, Lou. God, you feel—it feels, it’s… _shit_. Louis. This is—“ he lets out a load moan, seeming unable to put his thoughts into words, but it’s okay because Louis knows exactly what he means, feels it too, feels how it’s too big, much too big to actually describe. It’s love, is what it is. It’s love. It’s the kind of love that rushes through your body, that clings to your skin, that lingers in the air around them. He’s never felt this close to Harry before, feels almost like they’re just one person, like they could melt together and never separate again, like they could take up residence within each other.

When Louis had been younger he’d never understood the appeal of staying with just one person for the rest of his life, couldn’t understand why you’d want to tie yourself down, limit yourself to just one person. He couldn’t imagine one person that would be the kind of special and fascinating that’d keep you interested for years and years. He’d grown out of it rather quickly, had moved on to wanting that kind of connections to someone, but also found it much, much too unrealistic. A fairy tale dream. His own parents hadn’t even lasted two weeks for crying out loud. His mum and Mark lasted longer, granted, but it was so bad by the end of it, Louis couldn’t imagine how it would ever be possible to stay with the same person for the rest of one’s life. He’d seen his mum and Mark fall in love, had seen how much they cared for each other and had seen it all fall apart, had seen how thin the line between love and animosity could be.

Now though, with Harry, it's the kind of love and connection he’d only thought existed in fanciful dreams and naïve minds. It was too much and not enough all at once. It was the fucking best and also absolutely terrifying. It has the ability to keep him together, to keep him sated, and happy, and fucking brilliant for the rest of his life, or it could absolutely break him. He kind of understands the people who settle for mediocre, because it seems that the bigger, and better, and more important it is, the more of yourself you give to the other person, the bigger the risk of it all, the less you will have left of yourself if it ever were to go south.

They’re doing this, they’re really doing this, God, Louis hopes so. They haven’t talked though, they still haven’t talked, and shit, maybe they’re not really on the same page? Maybe they’re not, and shit, if they’re not, if he's going to have to give up on Harry tomorrow… no. Sod it all, no, Louis doesn’t think he would actually be able to.

“Lou.” Harry lets out with a pained moan above him. “Fuck, Lou, I…”

“Move,” he manages to get out, skin feeling overheated and body skittish, impatient. “You can move.”

Harry pulls out of him, as much as he can without slipping all the way out. It feels unbelievable, like nothing Louis could ever have imagined. He arches his back, moans filthily as his head falls to the side, eyes falling shut from pleasure. He’s got no control over his body, his reactions, no control at all, and it would be so, so scary if not for the fact that Harry’s the one affecting him like this, and he has never, has never trusted anyone like he trusts him, can’t think of anyone he’d rather put his life, his happiness, his heart, and his health in the hands of.

“Oh, my God,” Harry rasps as he pulls out again, rhythm slow. His fingers are digging into Louis’ hips and he finds that he kind of hopes they’ll leave behind bruises, some physical proof of what they’re doing, of how much they’re giving to each other.  “Oh, God, Lou. Shit. Fuck. Love, you feel so fucking good, love you so much, love you so, so much,” Harry continues, words blending together as he moves and pants and squeezes his eyes together, evidently every bit as affected as Louis. All his earlier concerns fall away because there’s no way, just no way that Harry doesn’t feel the same. Just no way.

“Faster, Haz,” he rasps out, raising his hips off the mattress to meet Harry’s thrusts in an attempt to hurry him along.  “Fuck, faster, harder. Love you. Fuck me harder, please, baby, please.” His babble turns into a string of incoherent sounds as Harry takes hold of his legs, lifting them to rest against his shoulders, shifting the angle of his thrusts. Louis never thought he was athletic or bendy enough to fold in on himself like this, but when Harry pushes inside and nails his prostate straight on, he finds that he’s very, very grateful that he apparently is.

Harry picks up his pace, slamming into Louis’ prostate again and again, manoeuvring his hand in between them to take a hold of Louis’ leaking cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

It’s almost _too_ _good._ Almost too much. He feels it in every nerve of his body, feels how it’s building up to an orgasm that could probably kill a lesser man. He’s beyond words, might even be beyond human sounds. He feels like he could so easily just float away, might actually just raise his body off the mattress if he just let himself go. It’s scary and exhilarating and the best sex they’ve ever had.

When they come, they come together in unison, twin cries blending in harmony, shuddering bodies and lungs gasping for air, gasping for something like sanity to return to them. Louis’ stomach is painted in streaks of white like particularly abstract body paint, and Harry’s come is inside him. The sensation of him coming inside him is still at the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t think he could ever forget how it feels, doesn’t think he will ever want to have sex with a condom ever again if he can help it, can’t fucking wait to get to do it the other way around, to get to push inside Harry and feel him around him, skin to skin. Shit. He’s almost at the point where he could go again, mentally at any rate.

He can’t help but stare up at Harry in wonder, almost at a loss for words. His legs slip from his shoulders, and the younger man slides out of him, body still looming over him. He feels like he should say something, but the silence just stretches between them, growing longer and longer, and there's really only one thing running in a loop inside his mind.

“I love you.“

He thinks that might say it all, and much more.

But then the strangest thing happens, because Harry’s face just sort of crumples, and the next thing Louis knows, he barely has time to register what’s happening, and Harry is crying. Big fat tears making their way down his cheeks, gravity pulling them from his skin, letting them fall down, down, down until they splatter against Louis’ cheek.

It’s an instinctive reaction, when Louis reaches up to curl his hands around Harry's ribs, pulling him down on top of him and wrapping his arms around him so tightly it surely ought to bruise, like Harry’s crumbling in his arms and the tighter he squeezes, the more he can hold him together.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong, hasn’t a clue, but the overwhelming need to protect Harry, to make him feel better, to stop his tears, is almost unreal. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help, is powerless to do anything but hold him close, stroke his back and mutter nonsensical reassurances in his ear, waiting it out as Harry cries like his entire world has just come crashing down around him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he starts to mutter as the tears die down somewhat, turn into small sniffles muffled by how Harry’s pressed his head into Louis’ neck. If the situation was a little less grave, he would have marvelled at how small Harry is capable of making himself in Louis’ arms, the vast size difference taken into account, it’s really quite impressive. Time and a place for everything though, right, and this is definitely neither. “God I’m sorry, I’m sorry, fuck I feel like I’m taking advantage of you, shit. Like I’ve been—“

“What are you talking about?” Louis interrupts him, suddenly infinite amounts more confused, brows furrowing as he tries making sense of Harry’s rambles.

Harry buries his head further into Louis’ skin, like he’s afraid of meeting his eyes, and Louis only holds him closer, arms tightening around him in an attempt to convey how there literally isn’t a single thing he could say to change Louis’ opinion of him, of the two of them.

“You don’t know everything,” he says, and pulls back, Louis reluctantly releasing his grip on Harry’s body as he sits back further, putting more and more distance between himself and Louis.  “You don’t really know anything at all, shit there are—Louis, there are things you deserve to know, and I shouldn’t… I should have told you sooner, should have given you the opportunity to make an informed decision, and I’m sorry, I just… you need to know. It might change everything, and—“

“Harry,” Louis interrupts again warily, this time genuinely worried about what he’s going to say. He’s rarely seen Harry this distraught and it’s tearing him apart – quite literally it feels like – not knowing why or how he can help. “You’re scaring me, baby, what—“

“I’ve been in love with you since I was 16 years old.” Harry rushes out, like getting the words out faster might lessen the severity of them, might take away some of the impact.

Nothing follows his confession but silence.

Nothing but silence because… because what is Louis even supposed to _say_? Since he was sixteen? Since Harry was _sixteen_? Sixteen. Sixteen, that’s… that’s since—

“Always, fuck, I’m sorry, Lou. I can’t—I didn’t mean to, I just—I…”He seems almost desperate to explain himself, sounds distraught and sad, and Louis isn’t angry, isn’t angry at all, just confused, just having a hard time wrapping his mind around what Harry’s saying, having a hard time processing it all. “I’m sorry,” he says again, like he actually has something to apologise for. “I’m so sorry, Louis, please just… please just say something. Just tell me I haven’t ruined everything, tell me we can still make it work, please.”

The sheer desperation in Harry’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, because even as he’s trying to wrap his head around the fucking bombshell Harry just dropped, it never for a second occurred to him to break it off with him, to stop what they’re doing. He doesn’t understand at all why Harry thinks he might want to, but apparently he hasn’t really understood anything these past seven years, so it’s really no surprise.

He reaches out to take Harry’s hands between his, pulling them to his lips and kissing them, seeing how Harry’s shoulders visibly deflate from where he’s sitting across from him. “I love you.” Louis states quietly, reaching up to wipe away the new tear that makes its way down Harry’s cheek. “Of course you haven’t ruined anything, baby, I’m just trying to understand. I’m just confused. C’mere,” he holds out his arms, and has barely uttered the words until Harry crawls into his embrace, pressing himself against him and holding on tightly to the point where it almost borders on uncomfortable. “Tell me from the beginning, sunshine. Just- Just help me understand, yeah?”

“God, I don’t…” Harry starts, tightening his hold on Louis, like he’s afraid he’ll leave if he lets him go. “I don’t know where to start, I just… I don’t want you to feel like I took advantage of you, or like I manipulated you into falling in love with me, that was never my intention, I didn’t—I—“

“Harry, _no_.” Louis interrupts him firmly, voice leaving no room for argument, because no. Just _no_. He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that his love for Harry wasn’t something he was manipulated into, wasn’t something that just happened overnight, not even something that has come within the last few months since they started their charade. It’s been there all along, since the beginning, and Louis has been so laughably out of touch with his feelings, but there’s really not even an ounce of doubt in him; loving Harry, being in love with Harry, that’s how he’s felt all along. There’s really nothing that has changed, except for the fact that he’s a hell of a lot more honest with himself now. Sure the love has evolved, has grown deeper, and stronger, and more intricate as Louis has gotten to know Harry better, just like he knows it will continue to grow, and evolve, and strengthen even more with time. Every second of every day he falls a little bit more in love with the wonderful man currently curled up in his embrace, smelling like green apples and fresh air and all things good in life.  

“Harry,” he picks up again, twisting his face to a slightly awkward and uncomfortable angle to place a kiss high on his cheekbone which is still wet and marked by tear tracks, leaving behind salt where they dry. “I love you. Not because we’ve been pretending to be a couple for the last six months, not because we’ve been living together and kissing, and shagging, but because you’re you. Because you’re the best person I’ve ever met, because you make me the best version of me there is. Because my life was better the second you entered it, and with every second I spend without you the world becomes a little more grey. Because every time something big happens you’re the one I want to share it with. Because you are the best part of my life. I didn’t know until I knew, Harry, but it was always there. It’s not new, it’s not something that developed over the last few months. It’s just not. It’s been there all along, even if it took me so, so long to realise and acknowledge it. And for that, love, _I’m_ sorry. So sorry.”

“I fell in love with you when I was sixteen, like from the second I saw you in that bathroom I was just… just so bloody gone for you, had lost out to my feelings before the battle had even started really. And… well, with every second I’ve spent with you since it’s only intensified. I’ve spent seven years being madly in love with you, knowing, thinking, that I could never actually have you, that you would never see me as anything more than a mate, and I—“ he shakes his head, Louis feeling the motion against his naked chest, and he feels awful, feels so awful for everything he’s put Harry through, feels awful for all the years they’ve lost, all the years they could have had together, and he vows to spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to him.

He’s got drying come on his stomach and a boy with too long limbs in his arms, and he swears that he’s going to devote his life to making Harry happy. He thinks it might be the noblest goal one could have in life. If all he has to do is love and care for him, it also sounds like the easiest.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses into Harry’s curls. “Let’s sleep, love. Let’s sleep and talk about all this tomorrow, yeah?”

It takes Harry a beat to answer, but then he nods. “Yeah, okay,” he extracts himself slightly from Louis, pulling back to look him in the eyes. He looks timid and unsure still, and Louis wants nothing more than to eradicate those feelings from him forever. Crying has turned his eyes a striking green, and… and Louis is just so, so in love with him.

He lies down on his side and pulls at Harry to lie down next to him facing him, wrapping his legs and arms around the younger man, naked skin against naked skin.

Running a hand through Harry’s curls gently, he catches Harry’s eyes, sees how his lids are already threatening to drop, jetlag and the day’s events taking their toll on him. “This is what you want, right?” Louis can’t help but question, needing to be one hundred percent sure.

“More than anything.”

 

 

When Louis wakes up the next morning he’s met with a pair of green eyes, watching him tentatively, his body intertwined with Harry’s familiar one.  A smile breaks out on his face of its own volition, and he lifts his hand to trace his thumb down the side of Harry’s face. “Morning, cutie.”

A smile breaks out on Harry’s face, almost too large for his face, like it’s threatening to split it in multiple pieces, like it’s almost painful. His face is swollen from sleep, his curls ruffled and pressed flat on one side, but Louis thinks he might possibly never have looked more gorgeous. He wants to wake up next to Harry, limbs tangled together like a game of twister gone wrong, every day for the rest of his life.

“Very good morning.” Harry confirms, and leans in to kiss Louis good morning. Morning breath be damned, Louis thinks, yes definitely. He pulls back and hesitates slightly, a small frown forming on his face. “I’m sorry about last night, Lou, I just… I just got a little overwhelmed, I think. I mean, it’s—it was a bit surreal for me, I guess, basically my biggest dream come true.”

Louis shakes his head, drawing him in for another chaste kiss. “Don’t worry about it, love.” Harry turns slightly so that he’s lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling, his right hand holding Louis’. Louis pulls his hand closer to him, intent on playing with his big hand and long fingers for a bit before they have to get out of bed and face the serious stuff they’ve been putting off, when he sees the tattoo. He can’t help but run his thumb over the words inked into Harry’s wrist.

_I just want it to be you and I forever…_

And suddenly it’s clear as day to him. He looks up at Harry, meeting the younger man’s gaze, knows that recognition is painted across his face.

“For me?”

Harry closes his eyes for several seconds, and Louis tightens his hold on his wrist unconsciously. When Harry opens his eyes again, he scoots closer, so impossibly close that Louis doesn’t think they could get any closer without crawling into each other’s skin. He kind of wants to do that, he finds, creepy as it sounds. It’s just. Well. He doesn’t really think there’s such a thing as _too_ _close_ to Harry. Now that they finally have each other, it’s like he’s starving for Harry’s touch all the time, like he needs to be in physical contact to actually survive, and the closer he can get, the better.

“Always for you.” Harry finally mutters, his face so close to Louis’ that he feels the small puffs of air that leave his lips as he speaks.

It’s simultaneously the most heart warming and heart breaking words he’s ever heard uttered, and he’s hardly surprised when a single tear makes it way down his cheek. Harry moves his hand to wipe it away, brushing his thumb underneath his eye to catch it.

“I always thought I would have to settle eventually.” Harry confesses after another moment of silence, words whispered, and he’s apparently hell bent on keeping Louis crying. “And it always seemed so unfair to whoever I’d end up with, because I always knew that I would never come to love anyone like I love you. So I’d have to settle or end up alone, really.”

And it’s then, with those words, that it just… it just _hits_ Louis with the force of a tsunami washing onto the shore, just how much Harry loves him. That the other man is consumed by the same overpowering, unbelievable love that Louis is. And it’s not that he didn’t believe it before, it’s not that he's doubted Harry when he’s told him, it’s not really anything… it’s just—it’s perhaps the first time that Louis really _understands_.

“I love you so much,” he tells Harry, voice choked up with the strength of his emotions, with his absolute need for Harry to understand how very, _very_ much he means these words. “I love you so, so much. I don’t know how you’ve come to love me like this, I certainly don’t deserve it, and there are so many people out there who are much better than me. If anything, you’re the one settling for me.” Harry makes a noise of protest, but Louis shakes his head as best he can, lying on his side, and cuts him off, pressing a finger to his lips. “I don’t know how I got this lucky to have you love me, but I’m not going to question it, I’m just going to be so, so happy that you do. Because I love you so much, Harry. So much. I’m so in love with you.”

Harry purses his lips, pressing a kiss to the finger still resting against them, keeping him silent. “You’re the love of my life,” he tells Louis, words calm, a stark contrast to the palette of different emotions to be found in his eyes, bottom lashes wet like he’s trying to hold back his own tears.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, placing his lips on the warm skin of Harry’s chest, pressing a kiss to the smallest of his birds. He draws back slightly and places his head on Harry’s chest. “And you’re mine,” he whispers, because it’s the truth, it’s the most honest truth he’s ever spoken.

He traces the lines of the bigger bird with his fingers, something he once read coming back to him, and he can’t help but chuckle. “You know,” he says, trying to take away a bit of the tension clinging to their repeated confessions of love, tainting the air with a seriousness that Louis definitely doesn’t appreciate this early in the morning. They have so much serious talking to do later that he needs to lighten the mood now. “I read this thing once… like, the fans have this mad theory about these,” he swipes his thumb over the bird again, “That they’re you and me, right?”

And he expects Harry to laugh, to shake his head at the silly conspiracy theories their fans cooked up back when they were just friends, but instead Harry’s silent for the beat of a moment, then, “Not so mad…” he mutters quietly, almost so quietly that Louis doesn’t hear, even though they’re practically as close as is humanly possible.

In shock, Louis sits up slightly as the words register, holding up his weight with his arm as he lies sideways, peering down at Harry, his messy hair falling into his eyes. “ _What?_ ” he asks, words perhaps coming out harsher than he meant for them to, because, fuck, he’s just surprised. What the fuck? He sees it in Harry’s eyes then, the fear, and he knows that Harry still isn’t quite over everything – how could he be when it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours – that he still feels insecure about how much and how long he’s loved Louis. God, Harry should never have reason to look at him like that, like he’s afraid how Louis will react to something he’ll confess, not if Louis has a say in it. He bends forward quickly, kissing Harry square on the mouth, the hand not being used to hold up his weight moving to cup his cheek. “What?” he asks again, this time softer, as he strokes his thumb underneath Harry’s eye.

“Birds don’t have eyebrows, Lou.” Harry states, like that explains everything, except the only thing it serves to do is make Louis even more confused.

“I don’t... _what_?”

“They are us. And I don’t know… maybe it’s really awful to have gotten a tattoo on my body that represented you and not even telling you, but—“

“No, Harry,” Louis shakes his head, overwhelmed and so… so… _flattered_ , really. “No, not at all, baby. Tell me about it, tell me why.”

“I’d just… I guess I’d kind of come to the realisation and the acceptance that I was in love with you, and it wasn’t about to change anytime soon… well, ever really. And you’d had that big epiphany about your sexuality ages ago, but… but, like, we were still best mates, and... I guess I’d also finally come to accept that you weren’t suddenly going to fall in love with me too, but…” he pauses again, like he’s only able to get out so many words before he needs to start over, try again. “But how I felt about you—how I feel about you, it’s… it’s so big, Louis. It’s like—like I still can’t quite believe you can feel like this about another person, and I just needed something to symbolise that. I just needed – even though I knew you didn’t feel the same, I just needed some sort of token of how I felt for you because—because it’s just…”

“The most beautiful thing.” Louis finishes for him, after Harry’s tailed off, seeming unable to find the right words. He understands, understand so, so well, because it’s exactly how he feels about Harry.

“Yeah.” Harry breathes out, hand coming up to rest against Louis’ neck, stroking over his pulse point.

“For me too, Harry.” He sits up properly then, to get a clear look at both of the birds. They’re beautiful, he’s always thought so, but they’ve never made his heart swell quite like they are now before. “Which one’s me then?” he asks, even though he’s already got a pretty good inkling.

“Smaller one,” Harry smiles, moving his thumb across it like he’s caressing it, and Louis’ heart threatens to burst with affection.

He grins and nods. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums with a small smile. “Curved eyebrows, too.” He sits up more, moving his hand to trace along Louis’ eyebrow. Which curves. O _h_. He looks at Harry’s, sees the straight line, and looks down at the slightly bigger bird opposite the Louis one, sees the straight eyebrow there, and he understands. Birds don’t have eyebrows, alright.

“The love banner then?” He asks, because he’s always kind of wondered. Surely Harry must have known when he got it done, that he’d be covering it up soon.

“Seemed kind of symbolic, yeah? Me hiding my love?” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but it twists in Louis’ gut, reminds him of how much hurt he’s caused Harry, of the fact that it took him seven fucking years to figure his shit out. Seven years he could have spent with Harry like this. God. He vows quietly to himself to spend the rest of his life making it up to Harry, never allowing him for even a split second to doubt that Louis loves him more than he loves his own bloody _life_.

“Please don’t ever hide it again.” He whispers, rolling on top of Harry and burying into him, seeking contact with every inch of his skin.

Harry tightens his arms around Louis’ body and plants a kiss on top of his head. “Never,” he breathes into Louis’ hair, just loud enough for him to hear it. It feels like a promise.

 

They don’t speak much after this, just holding each other close in bed, revelling in the closeness they feel, until both their stomachs are rumbling in harmony, and Louis finally doesn’t feel like he can put off a shower any longer, very much aware of the fact that he’s still got Harry’s come inside of him.

Harry tilts his head down to place a kiss on the corner of Louis’ mouth, before rolling them gently so that Louis is below him. He kisses him again, this time on the mouth, before drawing all the way back. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and stretches his back as he sits, leaving Louis completely entranced by the way his muscles ripple as he moves.

“Go take a shower, babe, I’ll order room service,” he says, as he finally stands all the way up, in all of his naked glory. Louis can do nothing but watch him.

“Will you come join me then?” He finally gets out, eyes surely crinkling as he smiles up at Harry, at—at his boyfriend? Fuck, he really hopes that’s what Harry is now. He’ll add it to the long list of things they need to talk about. “And then we talk.” He tacks on for good measure.

Harry smiles at him crookedly. “In the shower? You wanna talk in the shower?”

He rolls his eyes, sitting up properly in bed, the duvet pooling around his waist, leaving his torso bare and exposed. He doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes flicker down. “After, you tosser.”

Harry’s grin widens, and he crawls across the bed to capture Louis’ lips, tongue running over his bottom lip teasingly before pulling back. “I will absolutely be joining you in the shower.”

Louis only just manages to hold back a groan. Instead, he leans in again, pecking Harry chastely on the mouth. “Good,” he mutters against his lips, before drawing back and getting out of bed. It’s the first time he’s stood up since Harry had come inside him last night, and he can feel how he’s still loose and pliant, how Harry could maybe slip right in for round two with no problem. He feels it as he walks towards the bathroom door, perhaps swaying his hips a little more than he usually would, because he knows that Harry is watching, feels how a few drops of Harry’s come trickle out of his hole and down the insides of his thighs. He feels like he belongs to Harry, and while Louis values his freedom and individuality and shit, none of those are mutually exclusive with belonging to Harry, and he finds that he hopes this feeling will stay, will linger for the rest of his life on earth, because he never wants to go back to how he felt only a day ago.

He could swear he hears Harry swear quietly as Louis enters the bathroom, leaving the door ajar, and he suspects his bum might have had something to do with that. He feels like he’s just been made king of the fucking world.

He turns on the shower, waiting for it to reach the desired temperature before stepping inside. When under the warm spray he closes his eyes, tipping his head as the water cascades down around him, soaking his hair and falling down his body in droplets.

He doesn’t hear Harry when he comes in, isn’t alerted to his presence until he hears a soft 'fuck'. Louis opens his eyes, instantly looking straight into Harry’s, and for a few seconds they’re just looking at each other, the glass door of the shower separating them. Then Harry takes a step closer, slides it open, and steps inside the shower.

“Fuck, Lou,” he repeats, stepping closer to him, his hand coming up to cup Louis’ cheek, thumb grazing along his bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful. You’re a fucking vision, baby.”

Louis’ heart skips a beat, it feels like. He feels warm and tingly and… and loved. He feels loved. He feels so, so loved. People have complimented him before, thousands upon thousands of people have complimented him, it’s a part of their industry after all. Hell, Harry has complimented him a million times before, but he’s never really… he’s never really _believed_ it like this before. Not like... Louis knows that he isn’t exactly hard on the eyes, knows he’s good looking, but he’s never _felt_ beautiful like this before, like Harry isn’t just complimenting his looks, but his very person. Like Harry is saying that _Louis_ is beautiful.

“I love you.” He tells him, because no words feel like they’re enough, but these three ones seem to get the closest to it. Both his hands come up to cup Harry’s hips before sneaking around him and pulling him closer, head pressed into the space where his neck meets his shoulder, water falling around them like warm, warm rain. “Shit, Haz, I know that I’ve said it a million times already and it hasn’t even been 24 hours, but I love you. So much.”

Harry laughs into his hair, holding him closer. “You say that like you think I mind. I hope you’ll tell me many, many times every day for a really fucking long time.”

“Forever?” He can’t help but question, tilting his head up to look at him.

“Forever sounds pretty nice to me, yeah,” Harry answers with a smile, and then like flicking a switch his expression changes, taking on a worried edge when he nibbles at his bottom lip with his teeth. It’s like he’s afraid Louis wouldn’t want exactly that. He suddenly remembers that they haven’t talked about this, haven’t talked about much except the fact that Harry has apparently been in love with him for seven fucking years, Jesus Christ. Louis almost feels faint. 

“Me too.” He says in lieu of a better response, heart beating a million beats a minute, feels a bit like it’s got a life of its own, like any minute it might just beat straight out of his body.

“Can’t believe I get to have you.” Harry whispers then, awestruck, voice barely audible over the sound of the shower. “That you’re…” he trails off, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to finish the sentence, though they both know which word now hangs in the air between them.

“Yours.” Louis finishes, confidently. “I’m yours.” And it’s maybe a little silly, because there’s still so much left for them to sort out, and yet here they are giving each other their hearts, but they love each other, and surely that’s the most important part. Everything else they can sort out afterwards.

“Mine.” Harry says, uttering the word like he’s almost tasting it. “And me… I’m yours too.”

Louis nods, because he knows, he understands. He leans forward a bit, placing his lips against the warm, wet skin of Harry’s chest, right over where his heart is beating, protected by flesh and ribs. He can feel the beat reverberate through his lips. “Mine.” He says, like tattooing the words onto Harry’s skin.

 

 

When they finally get out of the shower, skin damp and bodies loose, there’s a trolley with their breakfast waiting outside their door and it hits Louis that this is it. The cards are about to be put on the table, they’re about to talk everything through, and… and it’s scary. Not because it can go wrong, because he feels so settled in this thing with Harry, has never felt so content before in his life, has never felt like anything was this _right_. He knows they’re on the same page, perhaps not about big things like marriage, and kids, and their opinions of people carriers, of wooden fences and golden retrievers, but that’s all negotiable. They love each other, though, they both want an actual honest to god relationship, and… that’s really the most important part.

He can’t believe, he thinks as he slips on a pair of briefs and one of Harry’s massive jumpers, seeing out of the corner of his eyes Harry slipping on a pair of briefs of his own, that they could have had this all along if only they’d just been honest with each other, if only they’d been better at communicating. Never again, he vows silently, never again. From now on they’re going to be honest with each other, going to tell each other everything. Yes.

They end up sitting down on the sofa to eat breakfast, Harry flicking on the TV for some background noise as they eat the eggs and fruit he called for. When he feels full, Louis can’t help but tilt sideways slightly, and rest his head on Harry’s shoulder, turning his head slightly to kiss his the ship tattooed on his bicep. Harry’s only wearing briefs, his torso left naked, and Louis revels in the heat radiating off his soft skin, feels so lucky and blessed that this is his to touch and hold and love for hopefully a really fucking long time.

When Harry’s done eating, he places his plate next to Louis’ on the small coffee table in front of them, and turns around to face him. Louis offers him a small smile, before making the executive decision that they need to get closer, closer, closer to each other, and climbs into his lap, rearranging their limbs until he’s satisfied that they’re both comfortable. He cuddles into him, placing chaste kisses on his neck as he feels his arms come around and hold him close.

“I wanna be sure we’re on the same page, darling,” Louis says after a few moments pause. “This is… like, this is for the long run, right? Like exclusive, actual boyfriends, hopefully no expiration date ever?”

Harry pulls his head back slightly, just enough to obtain eye contact with him. “I wasn’t kidding when I said ‘forever’, Lou. I’ve been in love with you for seven years when you weren’t actually anything but my best friend; I’ve long since come to terms with the fact that it is never going to change. It’s definitely, definitely not going to change now that we’re actually together.”

“Do you…” Louis starts, insecurity washing through his body like a tidal wave of unpleasantness. He takes a deep breath, because this thought honestly hadn’t occurred to him before now, but now that it has he feels a little bit like being sick. “Do you think maybe you’ve put me a little bit on a pedestal? Like, I’m not… I’m not really that great, Haz. How do you know it’s not just this fantasy version of me that you’ve cooked up that you’ve fallen in love with, and the real me will just pale in comparison, will be nothing like you’d hoped for…”

“Lou…” Harry starts, eye twinkling and looking very much like he’s trying to hold back a smile. Failing miserably, too. Wanker. “Don’t be silly. I know you, I know what it is I’m getting and what it is I want. And those two very much correspond, trust me. Very much. And sweetheart, I’ve basically been in a relationship with you for the past six months, I know what it’s like waking up next to you every morning, and cooking you breakfast. I know when you want to be cuddled, and when it’s better I just leave you alone. I know how you prefer to be touched, and that you can’t for the life of you seem to remember to rinse the sink for toothpaste after you’ve brushed your teeth. I don’t have unrealistic expectations of what you'll be like, of what a relationship with you will be like, I just know that I’m always so much happier when I’m with you, that your presence settles something in me, makes even the worst of times so, so much better. It’s not—like, I know we’re going to fight, I _know_ there will be rough patches, and nights on the sofa, and times where we can probably hardly stand each other, but—I want those times too, Louis, as long as they’re with you.”

Louis nods, heart beating a mile a minute, and he feels tears in the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill. He blinks them back, determined now not to cry. “Harry, we’re not doing this again,” he says firmly, and then hurries to clarify when he sees Harry recoil slightly at his words. “I mean, we’re not going to be this shit at communicating again. We gotta talk to each other from now on, tell each other how we feel. No running, Haz, no fucking off to LA without telling me, no ignoring me, or avoiding me, or not answering my texts and letting me find out where you are through pap pics and Sugarscape, I can’t do that again, I—“

“I’m sorry, Lou.” Harry interrupts, voice timid, barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry, I just… I was just so fucking _hurt_ , it wasn’t rational at all, it wasn’t thought through or anything, I just... I needed to get away. You broke my heart in that meeting, Lou, and I needed to get away before I crumbled completely, and everything in London reminded me of you. Even my house in LA did, so I ended up staying with a friend. You’re such… you’re the biggest part of my life, the most important, but I don’t think I’d really realised how much of it you’d wormed your way into until every reminder of you felt like a knife through my heart. And you were just everywhere.

I know I’ve been so stupid about this, so fucking naïve, but I just… it felt real, you know? To me. So much of the time, especially towards the end, it didn’t feel like you were pretending at all, right? So stupidly I’d began to think that maybe I did have a chance, maybe you could come to love me like I love you, and as time progressed I think I just, like, I just sort of thought maybe it was becoming real, but we just weren’t ready to talk about it, and I was too much of a coward to confront you about everything – I guess I was afraid of being rejected and of what you’d do if you found out how I felt about you, and you didn’t feel the same. And then I sort of convinced myself that surely you couldn’t be that good of an actor, and that you had to be feeling something too, so when you so easily sat there discussing how to put an end to everything, I just snapped. I thought you knew by then, couldn’t imagine how you still had no idea how I felt about you, when it’s so glaringly obvious that even people I’ve never even met can tell.”

He draws in a big breath when he’s done talking, the words having been rushed out in a speed previously unfathomable coming from Harry. Louis needs several moments to understand, to know where he should start, because Harry’s just told him so much, so much information, and he doesn’t know what to address first, where to begin, just knows that he loves Harry so much.

“It wasn’t easy,” is what he settles on starting on, and then clarifies, “In that meeting. It wasn’t easy at all. I didn’t—“ he pauses, takes a deep breath, tries again, “I wasn’t— _I didn’t know,_ Harry. I didn’t understand what I was feeling, I was so fucking confused, I just… fuck, you weren’t saying anything, Haz, and I was so confused, and all I knew was that I didn’t want it to end, didn’t want it to end at all, but I didn’t know how, or why, or fucking anything, I didn’t understand anything and you weren’t saying a word, and I just didn’t know what to do. _I’m sorry_.”

“No,” Harry shakes his head fiercely, grabbing Louis’ face between the palms of his hands, holding it still in front of his. “No, fuck, no, Lou – _I’m_ sorry. God, I should have told you how I felt before, I shouldn’t just have expected you to get it, I shouldn’t even have agreed to this whole charade when I knew it meant so much more to me than it did to you, I should have been honest with you years ago, I was just so… so scared.”

He looks up at Louis, sheepishly and offers him a half crooked smile. His eyes are twinkling, like even despite the unpleasantness of their conversation, he’s never been happier. Louis knows the feeling. “We’re here now though, eh?”

Louis nods, leans in to kiss Harry again, can’t seem to get enough, might never get enough, might die after a lifetime spent together, still craving the touch of Harry’s lips against his own. “We are.”

Harry hums happily, nosing along Louis’ jaw and letting out a pleased sigh. “You make me so happy.” He whispers, like it’s a secret, and Louis’ heart swells until it feels like it could burst, from both adoration and love, but also regret and shame.

“I’ve hurt you so much, though, and I’m so sorry, Hazza. For all those years, I’m so sorry. I never—I didn’t know. If I’d only known, I—“

Harry cuts him off with a hard kiss. “You make me so happy,” he repeats, pronouncing the words clearly, like it might help Louis understanding the words better. “More than anyone else, more than anything else. I’m never happier than when I'm with you. Even when we weren’t together, I would still pick you over anyone else. Yes, it hurt, of course it did, but it was always much better than the alternative of not having you in my life at all. You make me the happiest bloke on the planet.”

“I’m still sorry.” Louis states quietly, because he is, and he wants Harry to know. He melts into Harry’s embrace, holds him close, feels the heat of his warm, bare skin through the knit of his jumper.

Harry holds him back, just as tightly. “I’m sorry too.”

 

 

From then on the tour is better than Louis could ever have dreamed of, his life is better than he could ever have dreamed of. If he thought being in a fake relationship with Harry had been great, being in an actual adult relationship with him is fucking _fantastic_. Bigger, and better, and so much more than he had ever thought it could possibly be. And the thing is, it’s still fun, they’re still them, and it’s really just so, _so_ good. They play pranks on the other boys and the crew, they go out for dinner, holding each other’s hands without a care in the world who sees them. They engage in such toe curling displays of PDA, Louis is honestly surprised there hasn’t been angry complaints sent in to The Sun and The Daily Mail, who continue to find it newsworthy enough to print.

It’s simultaneously different and then not at all, actually being with Harry. They were so close to being an actual couple before that not much of their behaviour actually changed, it’s more that… well, now that they finally know they’re on the same page there is no touch too big, or too little, or too intimate. Every touch is allowed, and it’s just like they’re more free now, there’s no reason to overthink, no reason to keep reminding themselves that it’s just pretend. It’s real, it’s perhaps the realest thing in Louis’ life, and it’s very, very much the best.

He revels in the fact that he can come up behind Harry and kiss his neck when he’s speaking to a crew member, or a fan, or a journalist. Or when he’s just cooking dinner, utterly absorbed in making the perfect sauce for the pasta he’s cooking. He revels in the small kisses they can’t help but steal at every moment, the ‘I love you’s they utter several times a day, to the point where the other boys have taken to rolling their eyes and exclaiming ‘We _know_. You love him, he loves you, everybody loves each other – it’s _brilliant_.’

They’re happy for them, though, Louis knows. So happy. He doesn’t think he will ever forget Niall’s face when he’d shown up at his hotel door, probably looking wild and several degrees of deranged, begging him to switch verses in _Little Things_ to allow him to serenade Harry, with the song he was recently told Harry had Ed write from listening to Harry talk about Louis. Seemed almost poetic in hindsight. Niall hadn’t needed two seconds to agree, had just pulled Louis into a tight hug and called for the other two boys to meet him at the venue for rehearsals. Louis had been so, so grateful he doesn’t think he could ever thank him enough. Is still so, so grateful. Might have to give him his firstborn or something, or just pay for a nice cruise for him and Barbara. Things to ponder, he supposes.

They met up with them the day after for the next concert, arriving hand in hand, love marks littering their bodies to the point where Lou had just sighed and given up on covering them up, and seeing their three boys, their best friends, sitting side by side on the sofa as though they’d just been waiting for them to enter, waiting with bated breath to hear how it all turned out, had warmed something inside Louis. The fact that they cared so, so much for the happiness of him and Harry. It was humbling, almost. 

They’d broken into cheers when they’d seen them enter, jumping up from the sofa to come envelope them in a crushing group hug.

“About damn time,” Niall had said, shaking his head with a massive smile stretching his face.

“We’ve literally been waiting years for the two of you to get your shit together.” Liam teased, pulling Louis into a tight hug against his side.

“I’m so happy for you,” Zayn had said quietly, pulling Harry in for a hug, Harry’s head nestling in the crook of his neck. Louis doesn’t think Zayn’s words were meant for him to hear, though he has no doubt Zayn was happy for him as well.

“Thank you,” Harry had whispered, and Louis had filled him in on his own realisation earlier, so something tells him that Harry was thanking Zayn for more than just the words he’d just uttered.

From the UK they continue to tour Europe after having a few days off. They do two concerts in Oslo first and then move on to Stockholm, before reaching Copenhagen. They’ve got concerts on the day before and after Harry’s birthday, leaving the actual day free, originally to allow him to fly home and spend his day with his family. He’d asked Louis though, shortly after they’d gotten together, if maybe they could stay in Copenhagen and just spend the day together the two of them. Louis hadn’t needed to think twice before agreeing.

They’d promised Anne to visit her for a few days next time they had an extended break, and the same with Louis’ mum. It’s not like they hadn’t seen them recently anyway, they’d driven down on a one day break they had between two UK gigs right after getting together, and surprised them with a visit, wanting to tell them in person about the development of their relationship. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen either of them happier than when they came knocking on their doors, hands held, fingers intertwined.

Now Louis’ been saddled with planning a birthday day for Harry, even if the younger boy has continuously reassured him that he doesn’t need Louis to do anything special for him, that just spending the day with him will be more than enough. Louis had gotten Paul to book them the Royal suite instead of the usual suite they’d been in when previously staying in the hotel, and it had been every bit worth it, when he’d tugged at Harry’s hand as the younger man had made to turn in the same direction as the rest of the lads upon their arrival, only to lead him to the different room.

As for the actual day, he’d been struggling with finding the perfect balance between doing something and just being together, enjoying each other’s company. The other boys have chosen to stay behind as well, Niall having Barbara flown in to spend a few weeks of tour with them, and Louis has arranged with them to have dinner and go clubbing afterwards to celebrate Harry’s twenty-three years.

The day, however, is just for the two of them, and after he’s woken Harry up with an early morning birthday blowjob, he orders them room service and hands Harry his birthday present. Louis had had such a difficult time working out what to get him, because fact is that they pretty much have everything, and anything they don’t have, they could just go out and buy themselves. Harry had done such a good job with Louis’ birthday present, and he just wanted to give Harry something that mean as much to him as that trip had done to Louis.

The parcel doesn’t look like anything special, isn’t even all that big, just an inconspicuous square box with a neat navy blue ribbon on top. He settles his arm around Harry’s wait, pressing a smiling kiss into his curls as Harry leans into him, turning his face in a silent request for a kiss. Louis complies and presses their lips together before they both turn their attention back to the parcel in Harry’s hands.

He unties the bow carefully and lifts the lid off the box to see the set of keys lying on top of some crumpled soft yellow tissue paper. He turns his head to look at Louis, face bearing the cutest confused expression.

“Keys?” Harry questions, turning slightly to get  a better look at Louis, while still maintaining their bodily contact.

Louis merely smiles and produces his phone from his pocket, thumbing over the screen until he’s found what he wanted, and hands it to Harry.

“What’s this, darling?” He asks in confusion, once he’s studied the pictured on Louis’ phone, thumb swiping between the different ones.

“It’s our house,” Louis explains, and then amends, “Or, you know, our hut, or gigantic bungalow, or something, I’m not really sure what to call it if I’m honest, H. It’s your birthday present.”

“You bought me a house?”

“A hut-bungalow-vacation-house thing-y.” Louis corrects with a grin. “In, erm, in Thailand, yeah? I thought we both would like to go back, so it would be nice to have something that was ours there, right? It’s on a different, more private island, so we can go away and enjoy the peace and quiet just the two of us, or with whoever we choose to bring, and—“

“Lou,” Harry interrupts him, grinning. He swings his leg over Louis’ lap so that he’s straddling him, and bends down to place a quick kiss against his lips before drawing back and looking him in the eyes. “It’s perfect, Lou. I can’t believe you—it’s too much, babe. Much too much. You’re too good to me.”

Louis shakes his head, drawing him in for another kiss and mumbles against his lips, “Not possible.”

“I love you.” Harry just states in between kisses, and Louis still hasn’t, probably never will, grown tired of hearing those words coming from Harry.

“Happy birthday, sunshine.” He replies, running his hands under Harry’s jumper, fingers moving up and down his spine. “I love you too.”

 

 

They go out for lunch, Louis having gotten a recommendation for a nice, informal restaurant from the hotel staff, and they take their time to stop to chat with fans outside the hotel, all of whom want to wish Harry a happy birthday. He’s glowing. Harry is literally glowing, happiness radiating off him in big waves, and Louis feels so, so proud that he’s the reason behind it all. They walk through the streets of Copenhagen hand in hand, caught in a bubble of their own.

After they’ve eaten, Louis tugs Harry along with him, walking through the city, having his phone guide him to their destination all while dodging Harry’s attempts to wheedle where they’re going out of him. When they get there, he has to take an extra look to make sure that he’s in the right place, before remembering that the staff member he’d been emailing had warned him that it was nothing like the ones you’d heard about or seen in Paris or any of the bigger cities.

He tugs Harry with him, walking onto the bridge in front of them, huddling closer together as the freezing air whirls around them.

“Lou, what are we—“ Harry starts, but cuts off when Louis pulls to a stop on the middle of the bridge, and reaches into his pocket, holding out the content for Harry to take. Harry takes it with a frown, clearly still confused. “What—“ He cuts himself off as he looks at the railing where Louis indicated with a slight toss of his head. He must make the connection between the locks hanging there and the one resting in his palm along with a black waterproof marker pen, because his mouth forms a small ‘o’ and he looks up at Louis in revelation. 

“Only if you want to,” Louis hastens to reassure him, squeezing the hand now holding the items, mourning the fact that the cold weather means that two gloves separate their skin on skin contact. “I mean, I know it doesn’t really mean anything—“

“It would mean something to me.” Harry interrupts him, looking at him with this funny half smile, before his eyes flicker down to the silver lock in his hand again.

“Yeah,” Louis visibly relaxes, the corners of his lips turning up into a small private smile. “To me too.”

Harry looks up at him, grin blossoming on his face, and he bends down to kiss him quickly before pulling off one glove with his teeth, and then the other, handing both of them to Louis for him to hold while he takes off the lid of the pen and stands for a few moments contemplating what to write. Finally he cradles the lock in his big hand as he scribbles something on it, fingers turning red from the cold, and Louis quickly decides to treat his boy to a hot chocolate for the walk back to the hotel.

With a small smile Harry takes his gloves from Louis and accepts his before handing him the lock and sharpie. The wind is freezing, and his fingers feel stiff and frozen within seconds, but when he sees what Harry’s written on the lock his heart just about skips a beat, and it feels like he’s soaring. Nothing, not even cold as shit weather, can bring him down from his high now.

He leans over to kiss Harry, but it’s more like clicking teeth with him, because neither can contain their toothy smiles, happiness bubbling in Louis’ stomach and flowing through his veins.

He takes the lid off the pen and adds his own contribution to the small lock. He takes just one moment to admire their handiwork, their black handwriting standing stark against the shiny silver of the lock, before handing it to Harry, silently prompting him to close it around the railing.

Harry does so, pulling out the keys and admiring the way it hangs next to the other locks, shining silver in a sea of bronze, not yet battered by wind and weather like the rest of them. Louis pulls out his phone to snap a picture, tweeting it quickly and taking a moment to admire his handiwork.

[ ](http://imgur.com/VPw4Si6)

[ ](http://imgur.com/hcVYwLP)

When he turns his attention back to Harry, he’s looking down at the small set of keys nestled in the middle of his palm, seeming almost tiny in comparison. Louis cuddles into his side, kissing the corner of his mouth before looking back down at the set of keys.

“Throw it.”

Harry nods and closes his palm around the keys, before dropping a quick kiss on Louis’ lips, and throwing the keys as far out as he can.

They watch as the tiny object soars through the sky, barely recognisable before it hits the water and sinks to the bottom.

He hands Harry his gloves, sticking his own hands into his pair, and takes both of Harry’s hands. “Well, guess that’s it then, eh? No getting rid of me now, unless you fancy a little trip to the bottom of the water there to retrieve those.”

Harry shakes his head, grin wide. “Fuck, you’re ridiculous, Lou. Don’t know why I love you.”

He shrugs, unconcerned, in reply.“Well, I dunno either, but I do love you silly amounts, so I’m quite happy you do.”

Harry takes a step closer to him, smile small and kind of odd, but almost heartbreakingly sincere. ”I love you because when I'm thinking about my future like I want it to be, I only see you. I see you and a big house, and so many kids we could start our own football team. I see a dog and a sensible car, and toys strewn throughout the house. I see you cursing in the morning when you step on a piece of LEGO our eldest forgot to put away, and I see you playing footie with them in our huge back garden, and I see family vacations and small getaways for the two of us when one of our mums will watch the kids. I see myself falling more and more in love with you every day. I see growing old together, waking up next to you, in your arms, every day until the day I die. I see grandchildren and—and just, I see forever Louis, and—“ He hesitates for a moment, seeming almost unable to get more words out, as he clutches Louis’ hands almost desperately.

Louis leans forward to peck him on his cold, red nose, and says fondly, with his own smile threatening to break his face in two, “You’re a sap.”

Harry’s grin stretches and he lets out a small laugh. “Only for you.” He throws back cheekily, before hesitating. Then, “That’s what I want though, Lou, and I know it’s not even been a full month, but—“

Louis shakes his head, tilting it sideways slightly, his lips twitched into a funny smile. “It’s been seven years, Curly.”

Harry breathes out and nods, before burrowing further into Louis’ embrace. Louis tightens his arms around him and they both turn to look out over the water, out to where the key to their lock made ripples in the surface as it sunk down to the bottom, buried deep where it’ll never be found again.

Louis never wants it to be.

 

 

When they get back to the hotel, Harry derails him when he makes to walk towards their suite, pulling him instead towards a nondescript door with the words 'STAFF ONLY' printed on it. He raises his eyebrows in question and Harry smiles sheepishly as he opens the door.

“I got a member of staff to do me a favour,” he explains, as they walk into what looks like a staff lounge, not nearly as lavish as the room they’re staying in, nor the rest of the hotel. “I wanted to show you something, but I didn’t want to disturb the guests in the dining room, and, like, it seemed almost wrong to bring it into our room, you know?” Louis doesn’t really know, considering the fact that he has no clue what he’s talking about. “So I talked to a member of staff, and she said she’s put one in here I could use.” He nods in the direction of the wall, and right there sitting on top of a long table is a silver keyboard. 

Harry sits down at the bench in front of it, smiling up at Louis with twinkling eyes. He’s a vision, really, curls peeking out from his burgundy marl beanie he’s wearing, cheeks and nose flushed red from the cold, lips pink and chapped, but still so, so kissable; so, so tempting.

“I’ve been practising.” He grins at Louis, shedding first his gloves and scarf, then his expensive coat, and at last the beanie. He flexes his fingers with a mischievous grin sent in Louis’ direction, before putting his fingers to the keys.

He plays the opening bars of _Little Things_ beautifully, but he hasn’t even reached the second line of the first verse before he messes up, swears, frustrated, and peers up at Louis with a pout on his face. “I’m usually better than this, you’re making me nervous.”

Louis can’t help but let out a small laugh because Harry just looks so damn cute. He bends down and kisses the pout off Harry’s face. “Budge over,” he says when he pulls back. “I’ll teach you, yeah? You’ve almost got it, darling.”

He nods and makes space for Louis on the bench before putting his fingers to the keys and trying again. They spend the next half an hour going through the song, and Harry improves steadily to the point where he almost has the verse down as well. He’s never going to be a master pianist, obviously, but he’s so bloody adorable in his concentration. Louis gets up from the bench and pulls out his phone, snapping a quick photo of Harry before tweeting once again.

[ ](http://imgur.com/EQgtYuC)

[ ](http://imgur.com/sdSjYrs)

Harry looks up at him with a smile. “Let me just try one more time, and we can go up and get ready for dinner, yeah?”

Louis nods with a smile, “Of course, love.”

And as he plays the opening bars and the first verse, stopping several times to adjust his fingers before continuing, and being all around just really terrible, Louis is hit with so much fondness he nearly keels over. He can’t believe this is his life now, that he ended up being this lucky, that the boy sitting across from him, trying to learn how to play the song he had had written for Louis, the one Louis used to confess his love, is his. That they’re each others'. They’ve not even been a proper couple for a month, but it’s still been the very, very best time of Louis’ life, and if it’s any indication of how the rest of their years together will be, well, Louis is perhaps the most blessed man to ever breathe on this planet.

 

 

When Harry’s getting ready in their bathroom twenty minutes later, Louis grabs his phone to check the time, and sees that Harry tweeted something only five minutes ago. With a small smile he wouldn’t even be able to hold back if he tried, he thumbs it open.

[ ](http://imgur.com/24VmVIE)

Louis grins, heart fluttering. He just loves how fucking clever Harry is with his words and his puns. He makes his way into the bathroom to his boy, catching Harry’s eyes in the mirror with a fond smile. He holds up his phone for Harry to see, giving it a small shake, before walking up behind him, draping his arms around his torso and kissing his shoulder.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the ending? Let me know what you think - it'd mean so much.
> 
> If you need more And Then a Bit, check out the [character asks](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/tagged/atab-character-asks), or send some of your own if there's something you're curious about.
> 
> It'd also mean a lot if you'd reblog the [masterpost](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/post/90153921780/infinitelymint-and-then-a-bit-pairing) for the fic. Or just come say hi on [tumblr](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The **EPILOGUE** will follow as soon as it's finished. Thanks for everything.  
>  Much love,  
> Heidi xxxx  
> 


	13. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today it is precisely three months since I uploaded the first chapter. That seems almost poetic. I hope you enjoy the end!  
> x

_And after all this time,_ __  
You're still the one I love  
 __  
Looks like we made it  
 _Look how far we've come my baby  
_  
 _We're still together still going strong_

_(Shania Twain – “Still the One”)_

**EPILOGUE:**

Harry wakes up an hour before their alarm is set to go off, and he can instantly tell that something is wrong. Or, well, not wrong per se, more like not how he prefers it. The space in the bed next to him is empty, his arms, which had been wrapped around Louis, holding him close when they went to sleep the night before, are now cradling nothing but air. It’s rare that they wake up to an empty bed nowadays, though it has been happening more frequently since Oliver started teething. He supposes that’s probably where he can find his husband.

Louis’ side of the bed is still warm at any rate, so he can’t have been up long. Harry resigns himself to getting up, knows that he’s not going to fall back asleep now that he’s woken up, particularly not when he doesn’t have Louis’ warm body to cuddle closer to and drift off with again, doesn’t have the steady beat of his heart to be felt under his palm like Harry’s very own personal lullaby.

It’s perhaps a little bit ridiculous, and a lot pathetic, but in the last coming on fifteen years that he’s been in an actual relationship with Louis, neither of them have gotten much better at sleeping alone. Luckily, it’s rarely a necessity.

He stretches his body while still lying down, trying to rid himself of the last bits of drowsiness. His back pops a bit, one of the many reminders that he’s closer to forty than thirty. He sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, yawning a bit before getting on his feet, wincing slightly when his bare toes make contact with the cool floorboards, and finds a pair of clean boxers to slip on.

He makes his way down the hallway towards Oliver’s room, peeking into the other three rooms on his way there, only to find that they’re all still sleeping.

It’s an early Sunday morning, they have no plans except for a Skype call with Liam at nine, which was the whole reason for setting an alarm during the weekend in the first place. It’s an early Sunday morning, his kids are sleeping safe, healthy, and happy in their beds, his husband is cradling their youngest in his arms, singing softly to get him to stop fussing, and Harry quite literally can’t imagine a life better than the one he’s living, than the one he’s been living the last decade and a half.

He stands in the doorway of the baby’s room, watching Louis who is swaying gently, his back turned to Harry, while singing one of the many love songs he has written for and about Harry over the years. He’s an absolute vision to behold, even from behind, age having only made him so, so much better in Harry’s humble opinion, like a particularly fine bottle of wine. He’s also only wearing boxers, the two of them having discovered together, barely weeks after having brought Oliver home from the hospital, that  the most effective way of getting him to settle down, stop fussing, even go to sleep, was skin to skin contact.

He allows himself to admire Louis a few moments more, before moving into the room, letting his presence be known by wrapping an arm around him from behind, placing a kiss on his naked shoulder. He’s soft, and solid, and warm, and Harry revels in the contact between his chest and Louis’ back, doesn’t think he can ever get enough of it, still hasn’t overcome the constant need to touch, touch, _touch_ – always touch, never be far away.

Louis stops singing, humming softly in acknowledgement of Harry’s arrival. He tilts his head backwards, resting it on Harry’s shoulder, and turns slightly, offering up his lips for Harry to bend down and kiss. He pecks Louis’ lips twice in quick succession, and then a last time, lingering longer and sucking Louis’ bottom lip in between his.

Louis lets out a content sigh and Harry pulls back, kissing him one last time high on his cheek, just below his eye. He moves his hand from where it’s been resting on Louis’ stomach to rest on top of Louis’ own where it’s spread across Oliver’s back. Peeking over his shoulder, he can see that he has fallen back asleep, and he takes a small step away from Louis as he places him back in his cot.

Louis turns to him when he’s checked that their son is still sleeping and comfortable, having draped the small blanket over him. He takes a step closer and Harry opens his arms to welcome him, drawing him in close with a kiss before swaying gently together, Louis’ head resting against his shoulder.

“Heyyyy,” Louis says, drawing his head back to be able to look at him properly. “What are you doing up, love? You were supposed to have a lie in.”

Harry smiles back at him, matching the softness in Louis’ face. “Don’t really sleep that well without you next to me, do I?” They’re whispering, so as to not wake up Oliver again, and Harry supposes it’d probably be easier to just leave the room and be able to talk at a normal volume, but he really quite likes standing here with Louis, and moving sounds like a very taxing activity.

Louis gets up on his tip toes and presses his lips against his in a lingering kiss, before drawing back, taking a step back, and leading Harry out of the room by his hands. Harry just follows. Of course he follows, would never even consider not following, would follow Louis to the end of the Earth, into anything and everything. He feels fearless, invincible with Louis by his side, like together they could fight through anything, weather any storm.

He leads them into their bedroom, crawling under the covers again, and Harry follows, because of course he does, what else should he do? When he’s snuggled under the duvet, Louis scoots closer to him and they intertwine their legs, and then their hands. It’s a bit, a lot, ridiculous, really, how affectionate, and—and _needy_ they still are, but he just… he just loves Louis so, so much. Every bit as much as when they got together and much, much more. And it works for them, it really, really does.

He knows Louis, better than he knows himself almost, now, knows him so much better, so much more intimately than he did when they were just best friends, and it’s strange in a way, because he’d really thought that he knew everything there was to know about the other lad. But there was still so much between them they hadn’t addressed, still layers of themselves they hadn’t given the other access to in the name of self-preservation. There’s none of that now. They kept true to the promise they’d made to each other all those years ago – no more secrets. Communication.

“Wanna go back to sleep, love?” Louis asks, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. He smiles softly at his husband and scoots even closer to him, as close as he can possibly get, naked skin against naked skin, the only thing between them is their boxers.

“Nah,” he says, kissing along Louis’ collarbone, no purpose with it except for creating contact between his lips and Louis’ skin. “Only thirty minutes ‘till we have to be up again. Can we just cuddle?”

He feels Louis press a kiss to the top of his head, face nestled in his curls, and he smiles into the crook of his neck because he literally can’t help it. “Of course, lovely.” Louis replies, and Harry tightens his arms around him as he feels his hands trace patterns on his back. “What time is Liam calling?”

“Nine, so we should probably have the kids up and fed by then if they wanna talk with him as well.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums in agreement. “Luke will definitely want to—“

“And Freya will want to when Lucas wants to—“

“Yeah, I think he’ll want to talk to them anyway, he hardly gets to see them with how much time he spends in LA. Do we have any other plans today?”

Harry nods, and he knows Louis can feel it even though he can’t see his face. “Freya is going to Nina from her class’ birthday party later. Zayn and Perrie are picking her up on their way to drop Mila off there.”

“Right, and Luke?”

“Don’t think he has anything, no, though something might come up knowing him.”

“Well, Papa,” he can’t see it, but he knows Louis is grinning right now, “It’s a busy thing, being eleven.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Harry answers, voice dry. “He’s a right little social butterfly, that one.”

“Yeah, well, honestly I think he gets that from you, love – right little charmer you were.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Popular,” Harry argues, drawing back just the tiniest amount until they can look each other in the eye.

“Well,” Louis shrugs, “I guess he’s just been blessed with really cool parents, eh?”

Harry can’t exactly argue against that one. He thinks, in his own humble opinion, that they have done, and are doing, quite a splendid job at raising all four of their children.

“How about us?” Louis murmurs, tracing Harry’s jaw with his thumb, smiling softly at him, crinkles by his eyes prominent and deepened with the time passed. “Have we got any plans?”

“You’re making me feel like a personal assistant, love,” Harry teases, nosing along Louis’ beard-scratchy cheekbone. “Are you only keeping me around to keep track of your day?”

“Caught me,” Louis grins, kissing Harry chastely, “I’m a proper cliché, banging you, my sexy assistant. Please don’t tell my husband.”

“Is that what we are? An illicit love affair?”

“The illicitetest… test.” Louis scrunches up his face, and Harry can’t help but laugh, softly, quietly because it’s still in the early hours of the morning, and they’re still in that peaceful state where any loud noise could shatter the tranquillity of their bubble. “The most illicit.”

“Sounds like a dirty little secret.”

Louis shakes his head, “Not a secret.”

“No?” Harry grins, “Dirty, though?”

“Kinky,” Louis corrects him with a shit eating grin.

“How does your husband feel about that?” Harry asks, slipping his hand into Louis’ boxers and cupping his arse cheek.

“Don’t think he’s complaining, if I’m honest.” He grinds his fattening cock against Harry’s, which is also starting to harden in interest, and they’re being stupid, really, because they haven’t got the time for this, haven’t the time at all, they need to be up in ten minutes or so, have to cook breakfast and wake up their kids and get them all dressed and ready.

“Fuck, Lou, we don’t have the time for this,” he warns him, regretfully slipping his hand out of Louis’ pants, every bit aware of the fact that he was actually the one who started it.

“Quick handjob in the shower?” Louis proposes with a lopsided smile, kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed before Harry has the time to answer him.

And, well… they could probably squeeze that in, yes. He’s out of the bed in a flash, standing up so quickly that he’s hit with a dizzy spell, forgetting the fact that he isn’t twenty-three anymore, because at times like these he feels it. Louis is there in a flash with a steadying hand on Harry’s waist and a kiss on his temple as Harry leans into him slightly, regaining his balance.

“Not so eager, lover boy, you’re not exactly young anymore.” Louis teases, as they make their way to their ensuite bathroom together.

“You’re one to talk, grandpa.” Harry shoots back with no heat, heart not in it when he has Louis in front of him, shedding his pants and stepping into the shower gloriously naked. 

“God, no,” Louis says, slightly mortified as he reaches for Harry’s hand, pulling him in with him, now pantless as well. “I hope not for many, many years.”

“Well,” Harry laughs quietly, mouthing along Louis’ neck as the water cascades around them. “Considering Lucas is eleven and Freya is barely eight I would hope so too.”

“And thank God for that,” Louis sighs as he takes a surprising hold of Harry’s length which has miraculously not softened with all their talk about grandchildren. Even at thirty-seven his dick is still something to be proud of, he even remembers Louis telling him so when they took a weekend in Rome just the two of them a couple of months ago, though he was incredibly drunk from touring wineries and has denied it vehemently ever since.

Harry moans into Louis’ shoulder, reaching down to wrap his hand around both their cocks at once, covering Louis’ smaller hand briefly until he removes it, sneaking both hands to cover Harry’s arse, one finger slipping between the cracks of his arse to ghost over his hole. He gasps at the slight pressure, already so close, stamina never been much this early in the morning even in his sexual prime. He knows Louis’ body well enough, speaks the language of his moans fluently, to know that he’s close as well, just from Harry’s hand pulling both of them off, making sure to swipe his thumb over the slit of Louis’ dick on every upstroke.

“Close,” he mutters into Louis’ ear, nibbling slightly at the lobe.

“Me too,” Louis pants, as he applies a bit more pressure with his finger, slipping just inside Harry’s hole with the very tip of his finger. Harry comes in tandem with the intrusion, orgasm overwhelming him as he shoots all over both of their torsos, his own hand and the floor of the shower, all of it instantly being washed away by the water.

He loosens his grip enough to allow his own softening cock to slip free, and then tightens his hold around Louis’ dick, letting him fuck into the tight grip one, two, three times before he comes as well.

Harry holds his palm spread under the spray to wash away Louis’ come coating it, while he holds him close to his body as he shakes through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

When he feels Louis slacken in his grip, he grins into his temple before pressing a kiss there, “That was pathetically fast, really. We truly are old, huh?”

“Well,” Louis shrugs, “Just following orders, aren’t we? We did say it needed to be quick.”

“It was good though,” Harry grins, hip checking Louis as he reaches for the shampoo and pours a dollop into his hand.

“Always good with you.” Louis replies, uncharacteristically soft as he turns his back to Harry, letting him massage the shampoo into his hair. Harry kisses Louis’ shoulder in reply, in agreement, before grabbing the shower head, tipping Louis’ head upwards and moving to wash out the shampoo.

“You never answered my question; are we doing anything today?” Louis murmurs, only just audible over the sound of the shower, as he spins Harry around and stands on his tip toes to reach Harry’s hair.

Harry hunches slightly, still hopelessly endeared over Louis’ pixie size even though he’s had so, so long to get used to it. “Well,” he starts, as he tries to resist the urge to purr, Louis’ hands in his wet curls feeling like fucking heaven. “We need to go food shopping, so either we can go together and bring Harper, Oliver, and Lucas if he wants to come, or one of us can stay home with the kids while the other goes?”

Louis doesn’t take more than a few seconds to contemplate before answering, and Harry’s heart swells a bit with his words. “Let’s all go, I’d like to spend all of today with you.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry questions, smile evident in his voice as he turns around, the shampoo having been rinsed out of his hair. “Any particular reason?”

“Well,” Louis grins, looping his arms around Harry’s waist and stepping closer. “Besides the fact that I love you silly amounts, it is precisely fourteen years today since the day I proposed to you.”

That’s… Harry’d forgotten, actually, which is nothing like him usually, but in his defence it’s not exactly like they usually celebrate the day they got engaged, and he has yet to forget a wedding anniversary or a birthday or anything of that calibre. They’ve been busy recently, arranging yet another tour and writing for another album with the boys, trying to schedule it all so that it’ll cause the least amount of hassle between their four families, kids and wives and significant others having been a part of the equation for many, many years now.

He remembers the day Louis asked him to marry him like it happened yesterday, though. It came slightly out of nowhere, and it happened so fast, not even six months after they’d gotten together properly, but it had just felt so _right_. From the minute they got together properly it was like something just clicked, like the last piece of the puzzle of their lives had been added and they could finally look down at the full picture.

It had been the last concert of their tour, they were in Australia, having played half a dozen gigs or so throughout the country, when Louis had sidled up behind him and wrapped his arms around his torso. They’d been lined up, ready to go on stage, only minutes before they were to entertain an audience of thousands. Louis claimed afterwards that it just slipped, that he’d had a much more lavish and intricate proposal planned, but that the words just tumbled out of his mouth right then and there, like they had a life of their own.

“Marry me?” He’d blurted out, the words whispered into Harry’s ear, quiet enough for the other lads not to notice.

Harry can still phantom feel the shock he felt upon hearing those words. He’d spun around in Louis’ arms to face him, surely looking several shades of unattractive with the way his mouth was hanging open in disbelief. “What?” He remembers whispering, shock colouring his voice, because in all honesty he was still half in the belief that he’d imagined Louis’ question.

“I love you,” Louis had stated, taking both of Harry’s hands in his. “I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. So… will you marry me?”

And Harry really hadn’t needed even a second to contemplate his answer, when all he had ever wanted was being offered to him right then and there. He’d taken a step closer to Louis, cupped his cheek in his hand, and whispered a ‘yes’ with tears in his eyes, before pressing a kiss to his lips.

It hadn’t lasted long before they’d both broken out in massive smiles, hardly able to kiss through their grins, and Louis had pulled a stunning black silver ring adorned with black diamonds in two rows out of his pocket, like he’d taken to carrying it around with him everywhere. He probably had. It was unique and beautiful and so, so _Harry_. A testament to how well Louis knew him. He still wears it on his right hand to this day, his wedding ring on the left one, and he’s able to look down on either hand and be reminded of Louis, something that never fails to put a smile on his face. It’s like that with his whole body, really.

Because like the sappy shit that he is, Harry has an entire body inked with the declarations of love he could never utter to Louis’ face before. The birds that resemble them, the love banner hidden underneath Harry’s bird, like the love he had hidden for so many years. And now he’s covered with other tattoos too, assembled through a life with his husband, telling an ode to the love of his life, to the family they’ve built together.

“Hey,” he hears Louis voice, as the older man tugs gently at a strand of Harry’s hair made straight by the water pulling it down. “Where did you disappear to?”

“Just reminiscing, taking a stroll down memory lane, you know?” Harry smiles, leaning further into him. “Remember the day you proposed to me?”

Louis laughs into Harry’ neck in response. “God, that was a mess.”

“Remember how Niall ended up announcing it to an entire arena by mistake before we’d even managed to comprehend it ourselves? Just saw the ring and asked flat out?” Harry grins, breathing in the intense smell of their joint shampoo that still clings to Louis’ wet hair, as he reaches behind him to turn off the shower.

“Yes,” Louis groans, taking a step back so that they can exit the shower. Harry hands him a towel as they step out of the stall and into the steam filled room. “And we were both too shocked by being confronted with it that we couldn’t do anything but confirm. In hindsight we should perhaps have waited to put the ring on your finger until after we’d finished performing. Or I should just, you know, have waited ‘til after to actually ask. ”

“We’d just gotten engaged, though, at that point it was probably the happiest day of my life, I was hardly thinking rationally.” Harry shrugs, towelling off before grabbing a pair of pants.

“At that point, eh?” Louis grinned, reaching past him to grab a pair of pants for himself. “Not anymore?”

“Well,” Harry found himself shrugging, unable to keep a smile off his face. “Then I married you, had an actual wedding and a honeymoon, spent two fantastic years with you before we had Lucas, and then had three more beautiful children with you, and we suddenly were a family, spending every single day together. I’m spending every single day with you, and it’s a little bit like it just keeps getting better.”

Louis smiles that perfect, crinkly eyed smile that never fails to make Harry’s heart flutter. “We’ve been together for nearly fifteen years, Haz,” he teases, “One should think you’d exhausted yourself of sappy things to say.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head, because no, couldn’t ever.

“I’m glad though,” Louis continues, “So bloody grateful every day that you didn’t just give up on me sometime during the bloody seven years it took me to get my head out of my arse, that you were willing to have me, that you still loved me when I finally figured out what was going on, I—“

“I would have been a bloody fool not to,” Harry interrupts, shaking his head slightly over the fact that they’re still having this conversation once every year or so – Louis seems to become particularly grateful and sappy around anniversaries, like they remind him of how fragile everything is, how close they were to not having this wonderful life they’re now living. “This past decade and a half with you, Lou, I couldn’t have had that with anyone else, wouldn’t want that with anyone else. Always been just you.”

Louis merely nods, because he already knows, Harry knows, it’s a topic they’ve exhausted long ago, but it seems that every now and then he needs to give Louis a little reminder, and he’s always happy to do so. More than happy to spew out sappy shit that would make any normal person puke rainbows. True shit, though, the truest of all shits, yes.

He crowds Louis against the bathroom counter and kisses him thoroughly, lazily, exactly like morning kisses ought to be. Reluctantly, he pulls back after a few moments before it can turn into something they don’t have time to finish.

“Role division?” He asks, kissing Louis chastely twice more before pulling back completely and taking a step back.

“If you make breakfast, I’ll wake up the kids?” Louis questions in reply, even though it isn’t actually a question, because that’s exactly how it always is.

“Sounds perfect.” He says in reply anyway, because it does, their routine having been established more than a decade ago. Louis squeezes his hand before making his way into their bedroom, presumably to get dressed, leaving Harry behind grinning like a loon for several moments before he shakes himself out of it and follows his husband into their room.

He pulls on a pair of jeans and an old checked shirt, his style having changed laughably little during these many years that have passed by, and shakes his wet hair slightly, opting out of doing anything with it until it has dried completely.

He leaves Louis in their room as he’s pulling on a pair of trackies, and heads downstairs to their kitchen, pulling out ingredients for pancakes, their own little Sunday tradition. He’s halfway through mixing the batter when Luke enters the kitchen, greeting Harry with a one armed hug and a ‘good morning’, which Harry returns with a smile. Wordlessly, his eldest son pulls out different kinds of fruit from the fridge, and starts cutting it into pieces and placing it on a big platter, ready to be strewn over the pancakes for those who want it.

“Sleep well?” Harry questions as he starts heating up the pan, getting out a plate to place the pancakes on when they’re finished.

“Yeah,” Lucas answers, moving to pull plates from the cupboard and place them on the kitchen counter along with glasses and cutlery, ready for Freya to set the table when she gets down. “Was fine. Can I flip the pancakes, Papa?”

Grinning Harry hands his son the spatula, stepping enough to the side to make space for Luke next to him. “Of course, peanut.” His grin widens as Luke wrinkles his nose, already having expressed how he feels that he’s ‘much too old to be called peanut’, a nickname that had stuck with them after Louis had marvelled over how the doctor had told them that the foetus was no bigger than a peanut when they’d first joined their surrogate at her doctor’s appointment.

He pours the appropriate amount of batter onto the pan, and tips it to spread the batter evenly. When it’s cooked enough, he motions for Luke to attempt flipping it. To say politely, it’s a disaster, and Harry quickly tips it into the rubbish bin, opening his mouth to reassure his son who beats him to it.

“The first one is always bad, I _know_ , Papa. Let’s try again.” They do this every weekend, and he can’t help grinning as he pours more batter on the pan, and this time, like every time since Luke started flipping pancakes every Sunday, he does it to perfection.

A few pancakes in, Freya comes into the kitchen, still clad in her pyjamas. Harry assumes that Louis thought it would be better not to risk her getting the outfit she’s wearing to the birthday dirty before even leaving the house, and he quite applauds the decision. She turns on the radio as the first thing, before moving to give Harry a kiss on the cheek as he stoops down to her level, and then grabbing the things to set the table that Lucas set out earlier. She’s so, so much like Louis in the morning, takes ages to wake up, quiet, pliant, and soft until she’s finally woken up completely. She’s physically the spitting image of Harry, when looking at her soft chocolate curls, big green eyes, and deep dimples, but so, so much like Louis on the inside. Just goes to show that genetics are far, far from everything.   

Louis comes down just as they’re putting the food on the table, their four-year old Harper’s hand firmly grasped in his, and a baby monitor in the other.

“Didn’t want to wake Oliver,” he explains, as he helps Harper into her chair. “Thought it’d be better to let him sleep.”

Harry agrees with a content hum, starting to distribute pancakes among the five of them. Louis’ got Harper dressed and ready, the young girl babbling happily about pancakes and something about dragons that Harry isn’t quite sure where it came from. Louis is humming and ‘ooh’-ing at all the right times, though Harry is sure that he’s at least as lost as to where the dragons came from as him. Harper has grown so talkative over the last few months, and it’s so, so amazing to see how she’s starting to turn into an individual, how she’s forming a mind of her own and apparently a love for dragons. Sometimes Harry’s heart feels too big for his body, so big that he doesn’t think his ribs can hold it in anymore, surely only moments from having it bursting from his body.

“Daddy,” Lucas says, as Harry has put a few pancakes on Louis plate and is moving to sit down himself. “Can I go to Sam’s house to play today?”

“Yeah,” Louis answers, shooting a quick look at Harry to make sure he doesn’t have any protests against that plan. “Of course you can, bud. You can call him after breakfast to arrange a time, yeah?”

Nodding eagerly, Luke tucks into his pancakes with a big grin, the prospect of hanging out with his best friend seeming to have brightened his day immensely.

“Uncle Liam is skyping us in half an hour,” Harry reminds them, after he’s strewn fruit over his pancakes. “If you guys wanna say hi to him?”

As predicted, Luke nods eagerly once more, having some sort of hero-worship deal going on with Liam. Freya is closer to Niall, the Irish lad’s constant enthusiasm and high energy levels being right down her alley, while Zayn has already claimed a soft spot in Harper’s heart, never turning down an opportunity to do one of the four year old’s favourite pastimes – drawing. Something tells him that Zayn will be quite enthusiastic to learn about Harper’s fascination with dragons. It’s kind of funny, really, how each of the boys have found one of their children to bond with just a little bit closer than the rest of them, but it’s lovely, and it works out. It’s already clear how much they enjoy having an uncle they consider a little bit more ‘theirs’, how nice it is for them to have one willing to put his sole attention on them.

They eat their pancakes, chatter filling their dining room and Harry’s insides with warmth and life. The radio is still playing softly in the background, and Louis is cutting Harper’s pancakes into small squares, while Harry makes sure that Luke and Freya are on top of their homework for next week.

“Papa,” Freya says suddenly, as all their plates are coming up on empty. “Are we going with you on tour this time?”

Harry nods, taking a small sip of his tea, “Yeah,” he says, smiling at her softly, “Not for another year though, pretty. We’ve agreed with your uncles to tour during your summer holidays next year, so that you all can come with us, and your cousins too.”

“How does that sound?” Louis smiles at their daughter, and Harry feels something touching his feet underneath the table, can feel Louis’ feet hooking around Harry’s ankles in a subtle sign of comfort.

They’ve been writing for the album for the past year or so, and are going to spend this summer recording, before coming out with their next instalment around November, and then touring the next summer. That’s the plan, and it’s not that they think their children will object to the idea of spending their summer travelling around the world with their extended family, but both Freya and Lucas have reached that point where their friends seem infinitely cooler than their dads, and you never really know how they’re going to take it.

“We’re gonna travel around the whole world?” Luke questions in awe, eyes big.

“In a bus like last time?” Freya asks, her expression matching her brother’s.

“Yeah,” Louis confirms with a fond laugh and crinkled eyes. “Bus and aeroplane. And not the whole world, but loads of countries in Europe and loads of places in America.”

They’ve opted for fewer places and more time spent each place in order for them to be able to also be able to create a feeling of holiday for their kids, not willing to expose them to the kind of tours they were on when the band was both younger and bigger.

They’ve managed to fall comfortably into that niche where they’re nowhere near their former status, but still demand this undeniable respect from people, the sole fact that they’re still around, still have a solid fan base despite all odds stacked against them, being impressive to even the biggest of music snobs. And the fans they have now are great, loyal and brilliant, not to mention the fact that their music is bloody brilliant, a far cry from the kinds of _What Makes You Beautiful,_ much more mature and much more _them_.

“That’s so cool,” Luke breathes, “Are we going to Spain? Can we go see Barcelona play again?”

“Can we go see the lock?” Freya asks eagerly, the little girl having been utterly fascinated by the lock on the bridge that still hangs there to this day. They’d taken their children to see it a few years ago when they’d played in Denmark last, and it must have made quite an impression for Freya to be able to still remember it despite having been quite young when she saw it.

They’ve taken to bringing a marker pen every time they go there to freshen up the writing, and gradually add the initials of their children as they came along. They haven’t been since having Oliver seven months ago, so they’ll have something to add this time as well. Maybe they’ll even have Harper write the ‘O’ on there, her fascination with Oliver Twist being what had named him after all.

“’Course we can,” Louis grins, answering both of them at once. “Hey, Frey, did you check on Maggie?”

Freya nods, “I did, Daddy. She was sleeping because she’s an old dog, that’s what Papa always says.” Harry grins, can’t help it, with the important tone she’s infused her words with, like she’s telling them about quantum physics, or explaining the cure for cancer, and not just the whereabouts of their big golden retriever.

“That’s right,” he grins at her, “It’s because Daddy and I had Maggie a whole year before Luke came along.”

“We know, Dad,” Lucas rolls his eyes, attitude much like Louis’, “You got a puppy for your birthday from Dad because he thought you should get in a bit of practice before having actual kids, you’ve told us about a million times.”

“Yeah, Papa,” Louis teases, grinning at him from across the table, “You’ve told us a million times.”

Harry shakes his head in fond exasperation at his family’s antics. “You’re pains, the both of you,” he tells them, and then turns his attention to Freya, “Do you wanna get her breakfast, pretty?”

Eagerly, Freya nods her head and scrambles off her chair, luckily finished with her breakfast already. She hurries to carry her plate to the sink before making her way into the living room where Maggie must be sleeping in her basket.

Harry gets up to follow her, leaving Louis to feed Harper the last of her breakfast and clear the table. He gets the dog food from the cupboard in the hall and brings it into the living room, where Freya is gently petting Maggie, the big dog nuzzling into her hand.

“Let’s get her to the kitchen so she can eat, yeah?” He suggests, shaking the bag slightly to catch Maggie’s attention. She perks up exactly at the same time as Freya scrambles to stand, looking eagerly at Harry.

“Can I pour it into the bowl, Papa?” She asks, as Maggie gets up and makes her way towards Harry, tail wagging and tongue rolling out of her mouth.

“Of course, love,” he nods, bending down slightly to scratch Maggie behind her ear before making his way into the kitchen where her bowl is, hand coming to rest on his daughter’s shoulder as she sidles up next to him.

Luke is rinsing off the plates in the kitchen when they enter, Louis and Harper nowhere in sight, as he helps Freya with tipping the food into the bowl.

“Harold, kids,” Louis’ voice sounds, coming from somewhere in the other part of the house, the office, Harry presumes, when he continues with, “Liam is calling, get in here all of you.”

Harry grins at his children from where he’s crouched, petting Maggie as she starts to eat. “Better do as your dad says, kiddos.” And he’s barely let out the words before his two eldest are running from the kitchen towards the office. He chuckles quietly as he strokes Maggie’s back one last time before getting up and making his way there himself.

 

The call to Liam ends up lasting an hour and a half, before the other lad has to sign off, too tired to keep going, but with the promise to the kids that he’s going to come back and spend all summer in London in only a few weeks.

Harry takes Freya to her room to do her hair when she’s gotten dressed in her favourite dress. He ties her long curls back with a headscarf with a pretty flower motif, and sends her along to show herself off to Louis and get his appraisal. He follows her, but ducks into Oliver’s room, to find his tiny son has started to stir. He picks him up, cradling him against his chest and kissing the top of his head where the tiniest amount of nearly translucent hair lies. He breathes in the unmistakable smell of _baby_ , determined to savour it now that they have it, both of them having found peace with Oliver being the last one they’re having.

He bounces him gently as he walks downstairs to where he suspects he can find the rest of his family, unable to hold back the fond expression his face morphs into as Oliver wraps his tiny fist around the fabric of his checked shirt, holding tight. He’s a quiet baby, hardly ever cried until he started teething, much unlike Harper for instance, who it seemed had barely done anything but scream the first year of her life. It’s an almost laughable contrast to how soft and quiet she is now, preferring drawing to most other activities, though Louis has managed to instil an interest in football in all of their children so far. Privately Harry thinks it stems from how fun Louis makes it whenever they get out the ball in their garden, and perhaps also how much fun the kids must be able to sense Louis is having whenever they play with him, how much he loves it, eyes shining and grin huge. More times than not Harry joins too, and it’s an all-out family thing.

When he walks into the living room, it’s to the sight of Freya twirling for Louis, her dress billowing around her, and Louis telling her how very, very beautiful she looks.

“Did Papa do your hair?” He asks, bending down to tug a curl slightly, before looking up at Harry, catching his eyes with a mischievous smile. “Perhaps you should do his, eh? It looks a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

Freya turns around to look at Harry, Louis’ hands resting on her hips from where he’s still crouched into a sitting position. She giggles, “Your hair looks silly, Papa.”

“Oh,” Harry says, taking a step further into the room, “Is there anything you can do about it?”

Nodding eagerly, she runs from the living room, presumably to find whatever she’s deemed worthy of being put in Harry’s hair, and he walks closer to Louis. Harper is sitting on the floor next to the sofa drawing, and Maggie is resting next to her, seeming quite content every time Harper reaches over to pet her, or bury her head in her soft fur.

“Did Luke ring Sam?” He questions his husband, who reaches to take Oliver from him.

“Yeah,” Louis smiles softly at Oliver, face the very definition of ‘heart eyes’. “Yeah. We’re dropping him off on our way to the shops.”

Harry steps closer to them, resting one hand one the small of Louis’ back, and holding the other out to Oliver, offering him a finger to grab onto. He does so with his tiny, tiny fist and much as he loves it when they start showing off a personality like Harper, or when they reach the age where they suddenly show insight and compassion that makes it feel like his heart is going to burst, or when they reach Luke’s age and they’re suddenly much, much too big, he’s still going to miss having a little one once Oliver gets older. Having someone so tiny he used to be able to hold them in one hand. It’s scary how quickly time passes, how quickly they grow up. It’s exciting, because he loves his children, and every single day they continue to astonish him and make him so, so proud, but it’s also terrifying, because the world can be such a cruel place, and he wants nothing more than to wrap them all in his arms and never let them go.

Freya bounces into the room again, a flurry of limbs and excitement, a flowery headscarf not unlike her own clutched in her hand.

“Sit down, Papa,” she instructs him, and Harry bends slightly to press his lips against Oliver’s tiny fist, before slipping his finger from it and sitting down on the sofa.

“Zayn texted a couple of minutes ago,” Louis smiles down at them, as he bounces Oliver gently, to the little guys’ great amusement. Harry thinks that baby giggles might be his very favourite sound in the entire world. “They’ll be here in like ten minutes or so.”

Harry would nod if he could, but Freya’s got his head tipped back as she attempts to tie in the headscarf. He holds up his thumb in recognition instead.

“This is hard, Daddy,” Freya says from behind him, her small hands wrapped in his curls. He sees Louis take a step closer, and it’s impossible to keep the smile off his face as Louis starts to instruct her how to tie it. When they both deem him finished, Harry turns around with a grin.

“How do I look?” He asks, running his hand through a few of the curls peeking out from it.

“Almost as beautiful as pretty here,” Louis smiles, eyes twinkling in merriment. With one arm, the other holding Oliver up, he reaches down to adjust the scarf slightly. “Stunning.”

Harry’s about to reply when the doorbell rings, and Freya hurries to open it. Louis moves to follow her while Harry stays in the living room with Harper. He moves from the sofa to the floor to sit next to his daughter, running his hand over Maggie’s soft fur as he watches Harper draw with concentration furrows etched deeply into her forehead.

He reaches with his other hand to smooth down Harper’s hair, brown, and straight, and so, so soft underneath his fingers.

“What are you drawing, love?” he asks her, trying to sneak a peek at the piece of paper shielded by her body.

“Dragon, papa!” She exclaims happily. “I draw dragon.”

“Yeah?” he grins, sliding his hand down to rub her back. “Can I see? Can I see your dragon?”

She picks up the picture with her slightly chubby hands, and stands up taking the two small steps closer to Harry. He opens his arms and allows her to settle in his lap.

“Here, Papa,” she thrusts the paper into his hand, cuddling closer to him as he brings one hand around her to hold her closer. She’s perhaps the most tactile of all their children, and the day he’ll turn down a cuddle with her will be a cold day in hell. He looks down at her drawing, a smile tugging at his lips, as he sees what’s clearly a crudely drawn dragon. Not that Harry could do any better, at four his daughter has already got him beaten as far as artistic abilities goes.

“This is really good, monkey,” he tells her with a smile and a squeeze of her waist. “Really, really good. Who’s that?” he points at the two stick figures she’s drawn as well.

“That’s Freya,” she says, pointing to one of the figures, “And that’s Luke-y,” she points to the one next to the first one, and then moves her finger to something he hadn’t noticed the first time he’d looked at the drawing, a tiny blob riding the dragon. “And that’s me.”

“Oh, silly Papa, huh, monkey?” he grins, ruffling her hair gently, “I should have known that. Where are Daddy and I?”

“Daddy and Papa and Oliver is home,” she says importantly, “Oliver is a baby, too small for dragon.”

“So we’re taking care of him at home?”

She nods in reply, and he draws her closer in a one armed hug. “That’s really nice, monkey. Shall we go show Daddy your picture?”

Nodding eagerly, she scrambles off his lap, and Harry gets up as well. They move towards the hall, Maggie getting up and following them as they leave the room.

Louis is just closing the door when they reach him, and even though he knows that both Harper and Zayn would have loved to see each other, he knows she’s too young to understand why he’d have to leave almost before he’s even arrived. Zayn and Perrie are bringing their two kids for dinner tomorrow anyway, so she’ll get to show off her dragon then.

“Look, Daddy,” Harper toddles towards Louis with the paper clutched in her hand.

“What have you got there?” Louis grins, handing Oliver to Harry who hurries up to accept him. He crouches down in front of her, and accepts the drawing. Harry can see how the tips of his lips quirk upwards upon seeing it. “Is that a dragon? Wow, monkey, this is really good. Is it a dangerous dragon?”

Harry has to hold back his laughter as Harper shakes her head vehemently, looking scandalised at Louis’ suggestion. “ _No_ , Daddy. Dragons not dangerous.”

“Alright,” Louis grins. “If you say so. You’re the expert. Do you want us to hang it on the fridge?”

Harper nods with big eyes, and moves to grab Louis’ hand, pulling him with her into the kitchen. Harry follows them with Oliver perched on his hip.

“Should we leave now?” he asks, as Louis and Harper are pinning the picture smack in the middle of the fridge, mismatched magnets from all around the world being used to hold it up. “I’ve got a list on my phone, so we just have to get them into their shoes and jackets.”

“Sound good,” Louis smiles at him over his shoulder. “We’re taking the Range Rover?”

“Might as well,” Harry nods, “We moved the car seat there the other day, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Louis confirms, and then turns to Harper, “Hey, monkey, will you go tell your big brother to get ready to go?”

She hurries out of the kitchen with barely a confirming answer, leaving Harry to chuckle softly in her wake.

“What’s with the dragons?” Louis asks, grinning, sidling up next to Harry to plant a short kiss on his lips. “Is that your doing?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harry denies, “Actually I think it might be Luke? Didn’t the two of them watch ‘How To Train Your Dragon’ last weekend?”

“Oh, yeah. I think you’re right.” Louis nods, as they make their way out of the kitchen. “Cool thing to be obsessed with, I think.”

“Definitely better than her jelly fish phase, every picture just looked like a giant blob.”

“She didn’t have a jelly fish phase, Harold,” Louis laughs, hip checking him as he pulls the kids jackets from the hanger. “She was barely three years old, everything she drew looked like blobs then.”

“I think they looked quite like jelly fishes.”

“Well, you would.” Louis retorts, though it had little bite. Harry forgoes whining because he knows he’s right anyway. He holds Oliver while Louis puts on his jacket, and then his tiny shoes, following with putting on his own vans and a Burberry coat Harry’s pretty sure was originally his. He takes Oliver from Harry at the same time as Luke and Harper bound down the stairs, coming tumbling towards them in a hurricane of Tomlinson limbs. They chatter loudly as they pull on their shoes and jackets, and Harry does the same before grabbing the car keys and opening the door to lead them outside.

Luke has a hold of Harper’s hand, and Harry is once again hit by how much of Louis that is in him, how much of Louis that is in all of their children. Louis says the same about their children and Harry, and they’ve come to the conclusion that maybe they’re just better at spotting the other’s characteristics than their own, but that’s also quite alright, because Harry wouldn’t mind having twenty children that were spitting images of Louis inside and out. Wouldn’t mind at all. But there’s something about the protective streak in Luke that runs a mile deep, something about the way that he’s always looking out for his siblings, trying to shoulder more responsibility than he should that is just so, so Louis to Harry. It might be how every big brother is supposed to be, but to Harry it’s just Louis.

 

They drop off Luke at Sam’s house, agreeing with his parents that they’ll pick him up before dinner, before making their way to the shop.

Shopping with Louis now is much like it’s always been, a fine balance between buying the necessities on Harry’s list and whatever random stuff Louis deems worthy of making its way into their trolley.

They let Harper choose some ice cream they can have for dessert, it being a special day and all, and Harry picks up a few ingredients he’s missing to be able to bake Louis’ favourite chocolate mud cake.

Louis comes back from a detour to pick up some more nappies with a box of strawberries and shit eating grin. “Thought we should relive the night we got engaged,” he grins holding up the strawberries. “You know, minus the all night shag fest, I’m not naïve enough to think that’s on the horizon for us.”

Harry grins at him, pulling at his hip and hauling him into a quick kiss. “You’re lovely,” he tells him honestly, kissing his temple once before taking the strawberries from him and placing them in the trolley.

They finish the rest of their shopping at a leisurely pace, having nothing that needs them to hurry, and stop on their way home to get fish and chips for lunch. Harper deems it her favourite food, and proceeds to get mushy peas in her dark blonde hair. Louis doesn’t stop laughing for what seems the entire trip home, after Harry, in what was an attempt to remedy the pea plus hair situation, effectively got the green goo smeared all over his shirt. Life with children and a husband with the mentality of a five year old is truly thrilling.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the car while Louis drives, Harry whips out his phone to thumb out two consecutive tweets. He sends off the first one, and hurries to thumb through the sadly few pictures he has on his fairly new phone for the second one, his heart skipping a beat when he comes upon one of Louis and Oliver that he’d taken only a couple of days ago. With a small smile and a soaring heart he attaches it, and pushes send.

 

 

The rest of their Sunday is exactly like Harry’s favourite weekends; filled with nothing, really. He gets started on the cake as soon as they get home and he’s changed his shirt into one of the five hundred other checked shirts he owns. Harper is sitting on the counter and helping him as best she can, while Louis puts Oliver down for a nap. When there’s a lull in the baking, he pulls out his phone from his pocket to check the time, only to find that Louis has tweeted something as well, because of course he has. He opens it with a smile, which only grows when he sees the tweet on his display.

He hums happily as he lays his phone on the counter, turning his attention back to the baking. When the cake is in the oven and Louis has returned to the house, Oliver sleeping peacefully in the garden, they get out the watercolours for Harper to paint with, while the two of them go over which tracks they want to pitch to the boys for the new album. Their afternoon continues largely like that, until Harry deems it time to get started on dinner.

He’s cooking fajitas, because somehow it’s still Louis’ and all of their children’s favourite, though Harry, when he’s feeling particularly sentimental, would say he himself is more partial to a plate of chicken wrapped in Parma ham stuffed with mozzarella and a side of homemade mash. He might be a bit biased.

When Harry is getting the rest of the dinner ready, Louis drives off to pick up Freya from the birthday party and Luke from Sam’s. Once they’re back they sit down to eat together, the other three arriving exactly when the food is ready.

It’s at times like these, when they’re all sitting around the table after a day when they haven’t really done anything worth writing home about, that Harry is hit with just how ridiculously lucky they are to have what they have together. It’s not that it isn’t hard a lot of the time, their jobs not exactly children friendly, though they do what they can to make it so, and managing four children can be a challenge. It’s not like it’s all been rainbows and smiles between the two of them for almost fifteen years, but it’s never exactly been _bad_ either. They’ve fought, and they’ve disagreed, and they’ve thought the other one was a blundering idiot, but they’ve never spent a night apart that they didn’t have to. They’ve left each other to cool off, grabbed their jacket and driven far away in frustration, but they’ve always come back after an hour or two at most, always come back to talk about it, never gone to bed angry. Their sofa has been used for nothing but sitting on, and the occasional shared nap, or, Harry’s favourite, whenever Louis took to napping with one of their children sleeping on his stomach. The image of that never fails to melt Harry’s insides.

After dinner, Lucas suggests they all watch a film, and while Louis piles the plates in the dishwasher, Harry takes the kids to the living room to let them pick a film. They end up agreeing on something animated that Harry knows will bore him in two seconds flat, but he doesn’t mind at all when he gets to cuddle up against Louis. Harper is sitting on the other side of Louis, leaning into him as well, and Oliver is perched in his lap. Freya’s head is resting in Harry’s, and he’s carding his hand through her curls in a soothing manner. Luke is on the floor with a blanket and a pillow, arm thrown over Maggie as she lies next to him, hand scratching gently at her belly.

Like predicted the movie does nothing for him, but he revels in just being with his family, these nights meaning more to him than words can properly explain. He tips his head to rest it on Louis’ shoulder. The height difference between them would surely have made it an awkward position, if it wasn’t for the fact that Harry’s sunk so deep into the cushions of the sofa that he thinks he’s never going to manage to get up again. Louis turns his head to place a chaste kiss on his forehead, and Harry tucks the smile the breaks onto his face into Louis’ shoulder.

He’s just happy. So, so happy.

Their life together is an odd mix of over the top celebrity and down to earth domesticity, the both of them going to great length to ensure that their kids are raised in as stable and normal an environment as possible, trying to keep them clear of the famous aspect of their lives, of them as Harry and Louis of One Direction, though of course it clashes every now and then, like when they bring them along on tour. They work hard though, to design a tour that’s adapted to their families, and not having to adapt their families to the tour.

They have enough money to last them several lifetimes, they don’t need to work, they do ot solely because they enjoy it, but if it ever came down to it, it wouldn’t even be a choice they had to think about. Their family will always come first. They had their years on top of fame, and it was fucking great a lot of the time, but it doesn’t hold a candle to what they have now. Harry loves music, loves performing, but he’d choose getting to tuck in his children in bed at night any day, and luckily music doesn’t need a stage to be enjoyed. Freya has shown a remarkable interest in singing, and has been taking piano lessons with Louis for a little while now. He’ll take singing with his daughter and his husband any time.

When the movie ends they herd their children upstairs to get into their pyjamas and get their teeth brushed and ready for bed. Harper and Oliver are already asleep, which they’d luckily anticipated by getting them ready before. Harry carries Harper to bed while Louis takes Oliver, Luke and Freya, trudging after them up the stairs. Once he’s deposited her in her bed, and bent over to give her a quick kiss goodnight, careful not to stir her, he leaves her room, letting the door stand ajar, and makes his way to Luke’s room.

His eldest has changed into his pyjamas and presumably brushed his teeth. He’s lying in bed with a Harry Potter book clutched in his hand, the bedside light on. Harry makes his way fully into the room, bending down to hug his son and press a kiss to his forehead.

“Night, peanut,” he smiles, ruffling his hair slightly, “Don’t stay up reading too late, alright?”

“I know, Papa,” he sighs exasperatedly as only a preteen can, though he hugs Harry back tightly.

Harry merely grins at him, “Sleep well, yeah?”

“You too, Papa.”

Harry squeezes his shoulder a last time, before throwing a ‘See you in the morning’ over his shoulder, and making his way out of the room.

He’s walking towards Freya’s room, when he hears voices.

“Daddy?” he can hear her timid voice coming from her room, where Louis must currently be putting her to bed, and there’s something in her voice that just stops him in his tracks. The bed creaks slightly, meaning Louis must have sat down on the edge of the bed where he’s tucked her in.

“Yeah, what is it, pretty?” Harry can just imagine how her nose has morphed into that cute disgruntled expression at Louis’ use of her pet name, and he wills himself not to laugh because she just is so, so pretty that even if it didn’t stem from her namesake, they’d probably still have ended up calling her ‘pretty’.

It just so happens, though, that Harry had developed such a fascination with Norse mythology when Luke had been a baby, reading the stories aloud for him, so when Freya came along, such a beautiful, beautiful baby, it had seemed quite fitting to name her after the goddess of beauty and love.

“Marie’s parents aren’t going to live together anymore,” she says quietly, seeming almost scared. Harry is just about to go in when Louis speaks, and he suddenly feels like it would be intruding to make his presence known.

“Oh?” He says, quietly, prompting her to continue, and Harry wishes that he could see them.

“They’re getting a divorce, Daddy. Marie said that means her mummy and daddy don’t love each other anymore, but they still love her.” Harry can hear a small sniffle, and his heart breaks at the thought of his baby being sad. Something keeps him rooted to his spot though, something keeping him back from walking into her room and scooping her into his arms. Louis is in there, so it’s okay.

“That happens sometimes, lovely,” he hears Louis mutter, and there’s a bit of commotion before he continues talking, and Harry assumes he must have lain down in bed with her. “It’s no one’s fault, sometimes it’s just better if two people are just friends.”

“But,” Freya starts, and her voice is a little bit muffled by something, and Harry can see vividly how she must have her face pressed into Louis’ chest. “Will that happen with you and Papa too?”

Harry’s heart skips a beat and there’s silence for one, two, three—

“No,” Harry can just envision Louis must be shaking his head vehemently. “No, no, no, pretty, not at all.”

“But it happened with Marie’s mummy and daddy—“

“Papa and I are special, love, we love each other extra special. I love your Papa so, so much, bug, there’s nothing that’s going to make me stop loving him, nothing that will make me want to be separated from him—“ Warmth spreads through Harry’s body at Louis’ words, even though he already knew, even though he’s known, hasn’t doubted it for even a second, for almost fifteen years. It’s a big promise to make, but it’s also the truth Harry knows, knows without a shadow of a doubt that it’s a promise they’re never going to break.

Freya is less convinced, though, it seems, interrupting Louis, “Marie’s mum told her that sometimes it just happens, Daddy, sometimes you just stop loving each other.”

“Not with Papa and me. It—you know, sometime when you’re older, we’re going to tell you how papa and I got together, because you know we were friends for a long time before, and it took us a very long time to become a couple, so we’re not just going to stop loving each other now, muffin. I’ve loved your dad for more than twenty-one years, and I love him more and more every single day—“

“And I love your daddy, Frey.” Harry says, stepping into the room, deeming it time for him to make his presence known. “I love your daddy so, so much.” He climbs in behind her in bed, and it’s a tight fit, but Harry figures that being sandwiched between her fathers, his hand stretched over her and around Louis’ pulling both of them closer to him, is probably exactly what she needs. He looks up briefly and catches Louis’ eyes, the slightly older man looking back at him with fondness that should almost be embarrassing.

He links his hand with Louis’ and gives it a squeeze before continuing. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, pretty. We promise. We love each other, and we love you so, so much. We’re gonna stay together and stay a family for the rest of our lives.”

“But sometimes you fight,” Freya says, her voice quivering, “Marie said she could hear her parents yell at night.”

“Pretty, have you ever heard your papa and me yell at each other?” Louis asks gently, detangling his hand from Harry’s to stroke her cheek. “Sometimes we argue, because your papa can be really silly—“

“And your daddy can be a little bit unreasonable—“ Harry interrupts, shifting his eyes to look at Louis, small smiles playing on both their lips.

“But it doesn’t mean we don’t love each other, Frey. Sometimes we disagree, because that’s what grownups do, but we always talk about it, we never go to bed angry, we always work it out.”

Harry moves his hand to rest it on top of Louis’ which is stroking Freya’s hair gently. “You have nothing to worry about, lovely,” Harry promises. “Nothing at all.”

“You promise?” She asks, voice small, but no longer shaking, tears thankfully no longer making their way down her cheek.

“We do.” They both say at the same time, which prompts a small laugh from both of them. Harry looks up at Louis, sees his husband looking back at him and mouths the words they’ve said a million times by now; ‘I love you’. Louis grin widens, and his eyes reduce themselves to small slits, ‘I love you too’, he mouths, and Harry raises himself slightly off the mattress, leaning over Freya as Louis does the same, meeting his lips in a brief, chaste kiss.

When they pull back Harry’s gaze drops to his eldest daughter, and sees the smile on her face, the worry finally washed away from her features. It’s a testament to how scared she really was that she for once doesn’t complain about their PDA, having been in the phase where seeing her daddies kissing was the yuckiest thing ever for a while now.

“Are you ready to sleep, pretty?” Louis murmurs, kissing her forehead gently.

She’s quiet for a few moments, then, “Will you stay?” She whispers in reply, “Until I fall asleep. Both of you?”

Settling into the mattress and holding her close as Louis does the same, Harry replies gently, “’Course we will.”

 

“I love you,” Harry says when they lie in their own bed later that night, after having munched on strawberries (and maybe fed each other one or two) and watched half a movie of their own choice on the sofa, before deeming their effort to stay awake futile and relocating to their bedroom. He’s lying on his side, facing Louis who is lying on his back, head turned towards Harry.

It’s been nearly fifteen years now, and not a day goes by without them saying those three words several times. Harry used to think you could say it so much it lost its meaning entirely. Like when you say ‘I’m sorry’ so many times that it stops being an apology, or when you swear until it ends up sounding like nothing out of the ordinary. He doesn’t think so anymore. There’s no way he could ever tell Louis he loved him too many times, no scenario where the words would lose their meaning.

Louis eyes crinkle, small smile present on his lips. It seems that they’re always smiling, have always been smiling for years now. “I love you more.”

Harry shakes his head and rolls himself on top of Louis, so that he’s encompassing him with his body, weight held up by his elbows resting on each side of Louis’ head. He studies Louis for a moment, taking in his face, from the blue of his eyes to the scruff on his cheeks, to the laugh lines by his eyes and mouth that have only deepened with age. He’s stunning.

“I seriously doubt that’s possible.”

Louis smile stretches, brightens, “I love you equally then,” he says.

“Equally?” Harry asks, voice amused. He’s entirely transfixed by his husband underneath him, how the soft planes of his body line up perfectly with Harry’s. They’re meant to fit, meant to be together, Harry’s sure of it.

“Yes.” Louis confirms, one of his hands moving from where it has been resting on the small of Harry’s back to his cheek. The wedding band on Louis’ finger is cold against his skin, a reminder of what he has, what the two of them have together. Harry had never thought he could get this lucky. “Right here next to you. Always. Forever if you want me. You know that.”

Harry nods. Yes, he does know that, never doubts it for even a split second. “Forever,” he echoes, before leaning down and sealing the promise with a kiss, “And then a bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, everyone. Thank you for sticking with me through this, I hope you've enjoyed it.
> 
> Thank you to [Jess](http://thisismyoneluckyprize.tumblr.com), [Loo](http://keepmyarmswideopen.tumblr.com) and [Nina](http://larry-newbie.tumblr.com) for helping me through this, couldn't have done it without you!  
> Thank you to every single one of you who've read and commented on it. It's meant the world to me!
> 
> MATERPOST [here](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/post/90741515415/infinitelymint-infinitelymint-and-then-a).  
> TUMBLR [here](http://infinitelymint.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Let me know what you thought?
> 
> Much love,  
> Heidi xx


	14. a timestamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honour of Gabi's birthday, a short timestamp set before the epilogue and seven months after the last chapter. Smut, fluff, too much talk about marriage and maybe a couple's tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I'd revisit this fic, but it's Gabi's birthday, and I know she likes this. It's just short and tooth rottingly sweet, but I hope some of you enjoy - it was much fun revisiting these characters.
> 
> GABI, love, massive happy birthday. I hope your day has been more than wonderful. And I hope you enjoy your present. Much love xx
> 
> The biggest thank you to Nika for betaing on such a short notice, you're a babe!

 

When Harry finally enters their house after having been in LA for three weeks, it’s to the smell of burnt food. And, like, not just burnt as in ‘oh that got a little bit too much heat, better take it off the hob now’, but as in ‘call the fucking fire brigade and evacuate the building’, and he’s just a little bit confused. Now, it might be the ten hours flight and the jetlag starting to hit, but somehow the smell of burnt food and eerie silence isn’t what he expected to come home to. For a moment he wonders if maybe he should be worried, because, like, Louis knows how to cook, he’s not totally incompetent. He’s cooked Harry a tasty variety of different dishes over the last seven months they’ve officially been dating, and none of them had been even a little bit charred. Actually, the more Harry thinks about it, the more he actually starts to genuinely worry, because surely there must be something seriously wrong if Louis burned so completely that Harry can smell it all the way in their foyer.

Louis better not be passed out somewhere in the house. They’ve only been engaged for a month, and three fourths of that was spent apart, so he’d much prefer his fiancé to be conscious now that they’re finally reunited for more than phone calls and skype sex.

“Lou,” he calls out, shrugging off his jacket and pulling off his boots. “Love, where are you?”

“Bugger all, Harold,” Louis appears in the doorway leading to their dining room, naked and dripping wet save a towel draped around his slim hips. He looks fantastic, his body - for the lack of better words - a wonderland. Smooth and wet, tanned and strong, lean and so delicious looking Harry quite feels like he needs to pounce on him immediately, sink his teeth into Louis’ peck, run his tongue over every part of him, licking away the water droplets shining on Louis’ chest, cherish every part of him. They haven’t physically been together for three bloody weeks, and Harry feels his mouth go dry with just how much he’s craving Louis.

“You’re early, damn,” Louis continues to blabber, almost like he hasn’t quite registered that Harry’s really there in actual flesh and blood. “You weren’t supposed to be home for another hour.”

“Eh,” Harry says dumbly, brain barely capable of making out what is being said. He forces his eyes from the outline of Louis’ cock as he can see it through the fabric of the towel, and up to meet Louis’. “The wind was with us,” he manages to get out, “Saved some time, that. And no traffic on the way over. Baggage claim was quick. Missed you.” Fuck, he’s rambling, barely making sense, surely, but Louis cracks a smile, frown turning into one of those grins that crinkle his eyes, pure joy etched into every one of his features.

“You’re home,” Louis says, almost reverently, like he hadn’t even realised it until that very moment. “Fuck.”

“Fuck.” Harry repeats, agrees. He smiles, the corners of his lips curling upwards, dimples deepening.

He’s home.

“Fuck.” Louis laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “Baby, c’mere.” He opens his arms and steps towards Harry, and, fucking hell, how they even waited this long to touch each other, Harry’ll never understand, but he’s just happy now that he can fall into Louis’ arms, clutching him close.  

The water that previously clung to Louis’ skin now soaks through Harry’s t-shirt, like he is some sort of human towel for Louis to use. He can’t really say that he minds, though, particularly not when Louis tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair and pulls slightly, just enough to get Harry down to his level so they can seal their lips together finally.

It’s every single cliché, really. Like a piece of bread to the famished, water to the dehydrated, heat to the cold. Kissing Louis will always be the very best sensation, Harry’s sure of it. Just being close to the other man is enough to make Harry both happy and content indefinitely. Louis is _home_. Harry’s never felt so comfortable around someone else before, and it’s only gotten better, more intimate, _more_ period, since their mutual romantic relationship started seven months ago. Everything has been magnified tenfold, and Harry’s wakes up every day feeling like the happiest and luckiest bloke on the planet. He usually wakes up next to Louis, so he’s pretty sure that assessment isn’t too off.

These past three weeks have been hell.

They’re not so co-dependent that they can’t spend time apart, it’s just that they miss each other. That the separation came a week after Louis had proposed to him probably didn’t help either, but Harry had business to attend to in LA and Louis in London, so there wasn’t much they could do. Three weeks is nothing compared to the rest of their lives anyway.

Pulling back just enough to be able to breathe, their lips separate with an audible smack and Harry leans his forehead against Louis’, arms wrapped around him and clutching him close.

“Hi.” He says, tilting his head slightly and kissing Louis’ nose, his cheek, his jaw. “I’ve missed you. I love you.” His hands are warm against Louis’ naked back, and he lets his thumb press into the dimples at the bottom of Louis’ spine. He stops talking, has said the most important now.

“Love you too, darling,” Louis says, kissing along Harry’s jaw. “Missed you so much. Was gonna cook you dinner, but then it burned while I was in the shower.”

Harry snorts, can’t help it, because of course Louis would do something like go take a shower while he had a pot on the hob.

“You’re gonna burn down our house one day, mate,” he tells him with a slight shake of his head, more fond than worried.

“Thought I could just take a quite shower, _pal_.” Louis shrugs, as though that explains everything. “Wanted to be clean and have dinner ready for when you came home—“ Harry mouths down his neck, pausing at the place where his neck meets his shoulder. He sucks gently and then hard, alternating it while a smug feeling coursing through him as he feels Louis grow hard against Harry’s thigh.

“Urgh,” Louis groans, apparently trying to pick up where he left off in his story. Harry can’t even remember what they were talking about, too intoxicated by the taste and smell of Louis’ skin, by the feeling of his soft skin and hard abs beneath his palms, by the way he can feel Louis’ pulse beneath his lips. “Multitasking.” Louis says then, and it feels quite out of context for Harry until, _right_ , showering and cooking dinner.

“You know you’re incapable of taking short showers, though.” Harry grins into Louis’ skin, kissing over the reddening mark he’s left behind a few times, before pulling back and looking Louis in the eyes.

“Thought I could make an exception for you this time.” Louis frowns, as though he’s actually disappointed in himself for not living up to his own expectations.

“You didn’t have to do any of this, though, Lou,” Harry protests softly, bringing a hand up to cup Louis’ face, swiping his thumb under his eye. “I’d have been happy to return to you even if your hair was greasy and the house was covered in empty packages of crisps.” He wrinkles his nose and then amends, “Well, alright, maybe not the crisps part.”

“Dang,” Louis says, shaking his head, voice laced with mirth. “Better stay here while I go pick up all the stray crisps then. Thought you wouldn’t mind, you know?”

Harry shakes his head, before bending down and placing three quick, chaste kisses on Louis’ mouth.

“I love you,” he says simply, because it’s something that needs to be said, he feels. Probably can’t be said often enough, to be honest.

“You too, buttercup.” Louis grins, yanking one of Harry’s long curls. “Though I was worried there for a second, what with how much yahoo kept writing articles about us being at the edge of a break-up, spending so much time apart and all. It was very sad, see. Almost as sad as tumblr, I reckon.”

Harry snorts, sliding his hands down Louis’ sides to come rest on his hips. “No one could have been as sad as I would have been if that were the case,” he says, gunning for jokingly but somehow not quite managing.

“I reckon I’d give you a run for your money in that case,” Louis tells him, face dead serious, even though the breaching of the topic had started out jokingly. If there ever was a single part of him in doubt about how much Louis loved him, it was long gone. They loved each other so irrevocably, so fiercely that sometimes it almost felt like too much. Terrifying and all-consuming, but also the absolute best thing he’s ever experienced.

“I liked your response, though,” Louis continues, taking a hold of Harry’s hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing the finger where the engagement ring sits on chastely, keeping eye contact with Harry all the while.

Two weeks into their separation, when there was no doubt that Harry was in LA and Louis in London, various medias had started to write articles suggesting that they were breaking up, and one day, when Harry read yet another one that made him roll his eyes something dreadful, he’d taken off all his rings apart from the engagement one. That night, he’d gone out to dinner with a few friends at the most papped celeb destination in LA, making sure that the paps got several shots of his ring-adorned finger. Seemed like a nice way to shut down the rumours, and give the fans something to squeal about while they were on break.

“I’m glad,” Harry murmurs, letting his hands grab Louis’ and tangle their fingers. “I’m supposed to say hi from Jeff and his family,” he says then, remembering.

“Hmm,” Louis hums with a smile. “Greet them back for me when you talk to them. I’m glad you had fun on your trip.”

“Was mostly work,” Harry says with a shrug, “Wish you could’ve been there. Would’ve made it better. I got to go to a few concerts, though, that was neat.”

“Uh-huh,” Louis says, seeming to have lost interest in the conversation as he starts to suck marks into Harry’s throat.

“ _Ah_ ,” Harry gasps, “Kodaline was – _nurgh_ – just sick. Played my – _god_ , _Lou_ – song.”

Louis pulls back from where he’d been sucking a mark into Harry’s skin below his ear to say, “The one you wrote for me?”

Harry runs his large hand down Louis’ naked back, resting it over the towel covering his bum. “Pretty much all the songs I’ve written are for you.”

Louis laughs, and bites into Harry’s shoulder. “I know.”

Shaking his head slightly in fond exasperation, Harry pulls slightly at the towel wrapped around Louis’ waist, until it untangles itself from its knot and falls to the floor.

Louis is hard already, and fuck, Harry’s missed his cock. Like, he’s missed Louis too, missed him for other things than his body, missed him for his wit and mind and everything. Missed his body too, though. Missed touching him, missed letting his lips slide all over Louis’ body, missed taking his cock into his hands, his mouth, himself.

“Harry,” Louis grunts, as Harry wraps his hand around his length, tugging slightly. “God, babe, missed you so much.”

“Missed you too,” Harry says, kissing Louis hard on the lips before unceremoniously dropping to his knees in front of him. “Missed _you_ too,” he says to Louis’ dick, mirth colouring his voice as he looks up at Louis who’s fondly shaking his head in exasperation. Harry grins at him, quick and happy, before occupying his mouth otherwise, taking the head of Louis’ cock into it.

He doesn’t think either of them will last very long, not if the way Louis is already panting above him, and the way Harry’s own dick is throbbing in his jeans are any indications. He could get off to just sucking Louis off easily, not even a single touch needed. The heaviness of Louis’ cock on his tongue, the bitter taste of his cum, the soapy smell of his skin. He kneads his fingers into the softness of Louis’ bum, humming happily when Louis’ fingers tangle in his curls. He runs his tongue along the underside of Louis’ cock, following the thick vein as he sinks down lower and lower until the head of Louis’ cock nudges against the back of his throat.

“H, Harry,” Louis gasps, pulling at Harry’s hair. “Gotta stop, darling, I’m gonna come—“ Harry swallows around Louis’ cock, because, you know, that is the whole point of this. “No, no,” Louis protests through a moan, tugging a bit harder at Harry’s hair, as though he’s trying to pull him off his cock, which, _weird_.

“Want you to fuck me,” Louis manages to get out through moans, sliding his hand through Harry’s long curls. “Please, please, Haz, god, love, you gotta stop so you can fuck me, _please_.”

Harry pulls off Louis’ dick and buries his head into Louis’ hip. “God,” he breathes out, utterly overwhelmed. “You can’t just _say_ something like that, Lou.”

“Just did.” Louis shrugs at he pulls Harry into a standing position. “Even got ready for you in the shower and everything. Was probably why I burned the food. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t care,” Harry shakes his head as he latches onto Louis’ neck, biting and sucking. “I’d much rather eat you anyway.”

“Get on with it then,” Louis implores impatiently, tugging at Harry’s shirt. “Bedroom. Also, clothes off.” He abandons Harry’s shirt and slips his hands down to pop open the button of Harry’s jeans, brushing his hand over Harry’s bulge while doing so. It’s a miracle that Harry doesn’t jizz in his pants right that second. Really. _Truly_.

“Bedroom,” he agrees, confirms, taking a deliberate step back from Louis after a quick, hard kiss because he just can’t not.

He follows Louis, and by some stroke of luck, he manages to stumble out of his jeans and shed his shirt so that once he steps into their bedroom, he’s as naked as Louis. Naked, and hard, and so ready to be reunited in the most intimate way with his soon-to-be spouse.

From thereon out it’s all a haze of skin and pleasure, teeth scraping over collarbones, Louis hole already wet when Harry’s fingers graze it, pushing though any prep is hardly necessary. He likes fingering Louis, though, and he knows Louis likes it too, so he takes his time, moving his fingers in and out, eliciting these tiny moans and gasps from Louis, better than any melody Harry’s ever heard.

When he finally pushes inside, it’s everything he remembered and more. Three weeks is one hell of a long time when you’re as hopelessly in love as Harry is. He hopes he’ll never have to be without Louis for that long again in his life.

He wants to go fast and hard, slow and gentle all at once, wants everything. Louis feels so good around his dick, smooth and hot, and so, so tight. Such a lovely, perfect mixture of soft skin and hard abs beneath Harry, and he wants to do nothing more than run his tongue over every part of Louis’ body, worship it exactly like it deserves to be, make him feel like the godlike creature he really is. He looks gorgeous, feels gorgeous, _is_ gorgeous.

“God, baby,” Louis breathes beneath him, hand coming up to cradle Harry’s cheek lovingly. “Feels so fucking good. You’re so bloody wonderful – _ah_ – love you so much.”

It’s so like Louis to let completely loose when they make love, just say whatever’s on his mind, shower Harry in praise and compliments. Harry loves it, loves it so much, preens under the attention and Louis’ words. It’s all things that Harry has learned about Louis after they got properly together and Louis was finally in touch with his feelings, not holding anything back neither deliberately or unknowingly. There are no secrets between them – no big ones anyway – and it’s not like Harry has a lot of relationship experience other than this, but he’s pretty sure this is as good as it gets. And not just here in bed with Louis, but in general. Just, everything with Louis, really. Everything about his life. It shouldn’t be possible to be this happy, but somehow it is. And it’s ridiculous too, because they’re still in that honeymoon phase where everything’s good, they haven’t even had a proper fight since that day in the corridor before they confessed their individual feelings, and surely it will come. Surely one day reality will hit and their little blissful bubble will burst. Not enough to break anything for good, not enough to damage what they have, but surely there’ll be hard times and fights and times where they’re sick of the other.

But at the end of the day though, Louis will always be the love of his life, and nothing will change that. No fights, no hard times, no nothing. They’ll make it through anything, figure out anything. They’ve already made it through the worst, Harry thinks, all these years of unrequited love, of obliviousness and angst. They’re together now, and Harry knows beyond any doubt that being together is better than being apart. Whatever happens, they’ll fix it.

They’re engaged. They’ll get married soon. Someday they’ll have several children, and they’re going to be happy. More sure than he’s ever been of anything, Harry’s sure that Louis is the man he will grow old with. Through ups and downs they’ll stick together.

It doesn’t take long for them both to reach their peak, and when they come, they come together. Ecstasy runs through Harry’s veins like electricity, and he collapses on top of Louis, pressing his face into Louis’ neck.

“We should do that more often,” Louis grunts from beneath him, and Harry laughs, rolling off of Louis and slipping out of him in the process.

“Three months is a long time,” heagrees with a soft grin, because it’s easy to joke about it now that it’s over.

“Let’s never do that again,” Louis says, “In fact, let’s never leave this bed.”

“Actually,” Harry grins sheepishly, kissing Louis’ shoulder twice before looking back up at him. “Actually, I was thinking we could get a tattoo. Or I could, and you, if you want to.”

“A couple’s tattoo?” Louis questions, sounding suddenly intrigued.

“An engagement tattoo.” Harry grins, feeling, if possible, even more happy now that he knows Louis is on board with his suggestion.

Louis noses along Harry’s jaw, the air he’s blowing out of his nose at every exhale hot against Harry’s neck. “Sounds nice,” he says, “Got something in mind.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums in acknowledgement, turning his head and catching Louis’ lips in a soft kiss. Times like these are some of his favourite; when they lay naked and tangled up in each other post coitus, everything is soft and warm, and nothing outside their little safe cocoon exists. “Coordinates,” he says then, somewhat cryptically, brain a little too fuzzy to register that he should probably explain.

“Coordinates?” Louis questions, a confused frown on his face.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms. “That’s what I was thinking. I found the exact coordinates for where you proposed to me.”

“And you want us to get them tattooed onto our bodies?”

“Well.” Harry shrugs with a soft smile, “You don’t have to, but I’m going to. I want to remember everything about that day.”

“We should get half each,” Louis says then, tugging a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear. “You get the longitude and I get the latitude.”

“Or the other way around,” Harry says with a grin, because _fuck yes_ Louis is in.

“No,” Louis shakes his head with a laugh, “You’re definitely the long one.”

Harry shakes his head for a moment, before rolling on top of Louis, pinning his wrists to the bed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me though,” Louis says cheekily, because they both know it’s true and Harry wouldn’t want it any other way.

“So much,” Harry confirms honestly.

“These are the first proper couple’s tattoos we’re going to get,” Louis says suddenly, as though he only just realised. “Like the first ones we got as an actual couple, the first deliberate ones.”

“So they are,” Harry agrees, stroking his thumb over the three dots on Louis’ wrist.

“Not gonna be the last though,” Louis says, his hands resting on Harry’s waist, “Not if I have anything to say about it. Now that the whole world knows that I love you, I’m going to decorate my body in sappy declarations of it.”

“Leave some space for our kids though,” Harry says, heart feeling a bit like it’s going to explode anytime, coat them both in rainbows and sparkles.

“You want our kids to tattoo me, Harold?” Louis mock-gasps, “What a delinquent you are. Terribly father figure, you.”

Harry swats him gently. “Not what I meant, you wanker. I meant, leave a little space on your body to dedicate to them.”

Louis softens, reaching up with his head to kiss Harry’s shoulder. “I know what you meant, sunshine. And don’t worry, my body with be one hundred percent dedicated to our family from now on.”

Leaning down, Harry seals their lips together, letting his tongue meet Louis’. When he pulls back, he’s sure that if he’d either been a couple of years younger, or they hadn’t just had a go, he’d be ready to shag Louis once more. Somehow it never stops being hot with Louis, never stops setting Harry’s body on fire.

“Can we go tomorrow?” He asks almost bashfully, and he once again settles into bed next to Louis’, tugging his body against Louis’, fitting himself there, laying his head on Louis’ chest.

“’Course we can, babe,” Louis nods, placing a kiss on Harry’s brown. “First thing in the morning.”

“Sleep now though,” Harry mumbles sleepily, suddenly overcome with an intense feeling of tiredness. Must be the jetlag talking.

“Gotta get cleaned up first,” Louis says, easing himself gently out from underneath Harry’s head. Harry kind of wants to make grabby hands after Louis to make him stay, but the more awake, logical part of his brain registers that sleeping with come up his arse isn’t necessarily the most comfortable experience for Louis, so he should really get to clean up.

He ends up being able to keep himself awake just long enough for Louis to crawl back into bed and curl up around Harry, enveloping his larger body with warmth, and safety and love.

It’s good to be home.

 

-

 

“Where are you going to get it?” Louis asks the next day, when they’ve stopped in front of a red light.

“I was thinking the inside of my upper arm, actually,” Harry says, subconsciously pressing his thumb into the spot.

“Is there even any room there?” Louis teases as the car starts moving again.

“The other arm,” Harry explains with a grin, “The right one.”

“Ah,” Louis says, as though he didn’t already know. “Did you want me to get mine in the same place?”

“Well,” Harry says, realising that he hasn’t given it much though. He hadn’t even been sure Louis would want to get the tattoo with him, after all, and also it’s not really his choice to make. He tells Louis as much. “You can get it wherever you want, love. I don’t mind.”

“I want it where you’re getting it, though,” Louis says. “On the other arm though, obviously. But, yeah, same place. Especially if we’re splitting up the coordinates.”

“Okay,” Harry simply says, his smile speaking louder than a thousand words. He’s just happy, happy all the way into his bones. The kind of happy that’s almost unfathomably, too good to be true. He reaches out and takes Louis’ hand in his over the consol.

“Okay,” Louis echoes, and even if Harry hadn’t already been looking at him, he’d know he was smiling, like it can actually be heard in his voice.

“Have I told you I love you today?” Harry asks after a few moments of silence, feeling sappy and content.

“No.” Louis shakes his head. “No, in fact, you have not. And I was starting to wonder if you were going to break up with me, it’s about time you say it.”

“Shut up.” Harry laughs, swatting Louis’ upper arm.

“Hey!” Louis cries indignantly. “Do you want us to crash and die, Harold? Is that your masterplan?”

“You caught me,” Harry admits sombrely.

“Well.” Louis shrugs. “I’ve had a nice life. I mean, I’d have liked it to be longer, and all, but well…”

“You’re stupid.” Harry shakes his head, grinning as he looks out of the window.

“Well, I guess you’re stupid too then, babe, since you’re marrying me,” Louis says, and the words soar through Harry, overwhelming him for the seven hundredth time, because fuck, yes, he is. He is.

“We can be stupid together,” Harry says, fully aware of what a lovesick fool he’s sounding like. “You and me forever. Stupid together. Stupid in love.”

Louis makes this odd sound, half groan half laugh. “Stop yourself, darling. Really.”

“What?” Harry says with a shit-eating grin.

“You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love.” Harry counters, only barely holding back his laugh.

“What am I going to do with you, H?” Louis asks then in mock-resignation.

“Marry me?” Harry suggests, running his thumb over Louis’ knuckles.

“Suppose I’ll have to,” Louis says, as though it’s a massive hardship for him. Ha, as if. Marrying Harry is a treat, Harry knows, he both cooks and cleans and is great in bed. “Don’t think anyone else wants you.”

“Oi!” Harry calls out, affronted. “I know for a fact that’s not true. Just ask twitter. I’m very desirable, you know.”

“I know,” Louis says softly, their playful banter shifting. “I’m very lucky to get to marry you.”

“And me,” Harry agrees, “I’m the luckiest to get you too.”

They share a private smile before Louis turns back to look at the road, and Harry settles back into his seat. They don’t speak again until Louis pulls up in front of the tattoo shop,  comfortable in the silence.

There are no fans waiting when they arrive, which isn’t odd considering the fact that they’ve made no illusions to be going. It doesn’t matter either way, it’s not a charade anymore, so they don’t have to worry about anything except for being completely natural, doing exactly what they want to do. There’s no more hiding, but no more lying either. It’s liberating and fantastic, being able to just be free in every aspect of the word. Harry’s not hiding anymore, not from the public, not from himself and certainly not from Louis.

They walk into the shop hand in hand, fingers intertwined like puzzle pieces, fitting perfectly. The artists are expecting them, so they’re quickly ushered towards a private section, when the artist that will be doing the two of them readies her instruments. Harry settles down and rolls up his sleeve, knowing that he’ll be going first. They’ve already given the artist the designs, so from the time she comes back, it takes little time to discuss placement before the gun is put to his skin. It stings, of course it does, and while Harry to a certain degree likes the buzz from the pain, it also just hurts. He holds Louis’ hand tight, though, and that helps. It helps even more when the other man starts planting soft kisses on Harry’s mouth. They’re being both rude and pretty inconsiderate towards the artist, but Harry can’t really find it in himself to care.

When she announces she’s done, he twists his head to look at the black writing, a stark contrast to the colour of his skin, red and bothered as it is. It looks good. It looks brilliant, even. It’ll look even better somehow illogically when Louis gets his part too.

They change seats, Louis exposing his own upper arm, and offering his other hand to Harry with a soft smile. Harry knows Louis’ never been as happy about the pain as Harry, so he takes it with a smile, squeezing it lightly. His stomach feels like it’s inhabited by butterflies, and somehow, illogically, this moment feels big, important. It’s silly because he doesn’t need something like a couple’s tattoo to know that Louis is in it for good. He doesn’t need any more confirmation, really, than waking up with Louis in their bed every morning, nothing more than his touches and his smiles, the way he looks at Harry. He’s never been more secure in anything than he is in his relationship with Louis, and maybe it’s not exactly logical, but it _is_ and he _knows_.

Harry kisses Louis chastely once his tattoo is done too, before letting go of his hand and getting up to pay while Louis has his arm wrapped. When he’s pocketing his card again, a pair of arms sneak around his waist, a head nuzzling into his neck.

“Ready to go?” Louis asks in a murmur, before kissing Harry’s pulse point once and moving back.

Harry nods his agreement before turning around to face Louis. The other man slips his hand into Harry’s with a soft smile, squeezing it gently as they walk out the door together, calling their goodbyes to the people inside the store.

Harry squeezes back.

Once they’re back at home, the two of them cuddled up on the sofa together, they tweet.

 

[ ](http://imgur.com/LAtnXvJ)

 

[ ](http://imgur.com/kvSmmMs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last, I'm pretty sure. Again, happy birthday, Gabs - hope you (all) enjoyed! x


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